Give it Time
by Deana
Summary: Aramis turns up unexpectedly wounded, with no idea of how it happened...or who his friends are.
1. Confused

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 **Give it Time  
** A Musketeers story by Deana

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Captain Treville stepped outside his office and inhaled the early morning air, rubbing his hands against the chill. He walked over to the rail and leaned on it to look down on the garrison courtyard, and frowned when he saw something unexpected.

There was a man sitting against the garrison doors, which were slightly ajar. Whoever it was, he wasn't moving.

Treville quickly strode over to the stairs and descended them, heading over to the figure. When he realized who it was, he started to run and quickly knelt beside him. "Aramis!" he exclaimed, reaching out to lift his head and check the pulse in his neck. There was blood on the side of his face, and Treville was surprised to see that his eyes were open. "Aramis? What happened? Are you all right?"

Aramis blinked and looked at him, but said nothing.

"What happened?" Treville repeated, taking a handkerchief out of his pocket and searching for the wound. He found a cut on the side of Aramis' head, but it was barely bleeding anymore. He held it there anyway, wondering how he'd obtained the injury. "How long have you been sitting here?" he asked, realizing that Aramis wasn't answering his questions.

Aramis blinked again, but still didn't reply. He was visibly shivering, wearing his uniform but no cloak, and was missing his hat and weapons.

Treville felt a pang of worry spread through his stomach when he received no answer. "Aramis," he said, grasping his shoulder. "Talk to me."

The injured Musketeer looked at him, and Treville was shocked to see no recognition on his face. "I…don't know," Aramis told him.

Treville wondered which question he was actually answering. He adjusted his hold on the cloth over the wound and his hand brushed Aramis' face. His skin was freezing, and Treville again wondered how long he'd been sitting there. "Come, you need to get warm," he said, standing and pulling him upright.

Aramis' knees buckled and Treville caught him, quickly pulling one of Aramis' arms over his shoulders. He jostled him to try to keep him awake. "Walk, Aramis," he said. "Come on, you can do it." He jostled him again and Aramis lifted his head a little and slowly started to walk.

Treville brought him into the kitchen, where he knew that it would be warmest due to the cooking fires and oven. "Serge!" he exclaimed. "Help me."

Serge was stirring something in a pot on the stove, and he turned and hurried over. "Blimey!" he exclaimed as he pulled out a chair and helped Treville sit Aramis down. "What 'appened to 'im?"

Treville shook his head. "I don't know yet. Fetch him something warm to drink."

Serge hurried to do just that, putting something on the stove before rushing out of the room. He came back with a blanket, which he handed to Treville before going to fetch a cup.

Treville wrapped the blanket around Aramis and accepted the cup when Serge brought it to him. It contained warmed wine, which was the perfect choice; perhaps the alcohol would revive Aramis and get him to talk.

Aramis let Treville feed the wine to him, keeping his arms inside the blankets. Warmth spread through his chest and into his stomach, and it felt wonderful.

Treville noticed the difference in him. "Are you feeling better?" he asked.

Aramis blinked a few times and looked at him, before looking at Serge and around the room. "Where am I?" he asked.

Treville frowned. "In the garrison's kitchen."

"Garrison," Aramis echoed. He looked around again.

Treville nodded. "That's right, the musketeer garrison."

A look of shock replaced the confusion on Aramis' face. "I'm a musketeer?" he asked.

If Treville's and Serge's jaws could've hit the floor, they would've. "Don't you know who you are?" Treville asked.

Aramis shook his head, and winced from the pain that it caused. "No," he replied.

Treville looked at Serge, whose eyes were open nearly as wide as saucers. "Do you know who _I_ am? Or him?" he said, gesturing with his chin towards the cook.

Aramis looked at them both for a few seconds before giving the same answer. "No."

"Should I go get the others?" Serge asked.

Treville sighed before shaking his head. "Not yet." He assumed that Aramis would only feel overwhelmed if Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan—who would apparently be three _strangers_ —came bursting in.

"A doctor then?" Serge asked.

Treville nodded. "Send one of the stable boys and then come back."

Serge quickly headed for the door.

Treville sighed as he looked at Aramis. "What is the last thing you remember?"

Aramis looked down at the table. "I'm not sure." He looked up again. "What's your name?"

"Treville," he answered, his heart sinking at Aramis' question. "I'm your captain."

Aramis blinked. "Captain Treville," he echoed.

"Sound familiar at all?" Treville asked.

Aramis looked at him again before sighing and pulling a hand out from the blanket to hold to his head. He closed his eyes with a wince. "Forgive me, sir," he said. "I'm not...not feeling well."

Treville reached out to take hold of Aramis' shoulder, inwardly wincing himself. _Sir?_ "Don't apologize, and there's no need to be formal; you've served France under my command for many years, and you aren't just one of my best men, but you're a good friend."

Aramis smiled slightly at that.

"I should not be asking you so many questions yet," Treville said. "Just take it easy, a doctor will be here soon."

Aramis said nothing to that, keeping his eyes closed against his headache.

Serge came back in and stood there worriedly looking down at Aramis. "Is 'e still cold?"

Treville still had a hand on the injured musketeer's shoulder and could feel him still shivering. "Yes," he said.

Serge wordlessly went back to the stove, before coming back a few minutes later with another cup that contained broth this time. "This should help," he said.

Aramis opened his eyes and saw the cup. He reached out for it, but Serge didn't let go as he drank. His stomach felt a little queasy because of his head injury, but liquids didn't seem to be causing any trouble, so he slowly drank it all.

Serge nodded, pleased. "There, that'll do ya a world of good." He took the empty cup and gave Aramis a pat on the shoulder.

Aramis sat quietly for a minute, feeling safe and not apprehensive at all around these 'strangers'. "This seems familiar."

Treville's eyebrows shot up. "What does?"

Aramis gestured vaguely. "This...everything. Not the room, I mean, but...I know that I'm acquainted with you, as if I'd met you before."

Treville smiled with relief. "It's a start. I'm sure you'll be back to yourself soon."

Aramis certainly hoped so…it was frightening to be so helpless.

The doctor arrived a few minutes later and confirmed—as if it wasn't obvious—that Aramis had indeed lost his memory.

"What can we do?" Treville asked.

"Tell him things," said the doctor, as he cleaned the wound on the side of Aramis' head. "Show him things. Take him places…but not yet. He needs to rest."

"How long do you think it might last?" Treville asked.

The doctor shook his head. "Impossible to say. He could take a nap right now and wake up his old self, or it could go on for months. Give it time."

Aramis looked at Treville, throwing him a look of shock that would've bordered on panic if Treville hadn't known him better.

With an inward jolt, Treville wondered if Aramis _was_ the same person…with his memory gone, did he still retain the skills that he'd perfected through his years as a musketeer? Would he have the same personality? And then of course, there were Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan…they were going to be mortified and outraged when they found out what had happened to their friend…and Treville was _not_ looking forward to telling them.

TBC


	2. Close Friends

Treville leaned against the wall, watching Aramis where he lay on a cot that they'd placed near the fire. The injured musketeer's eyes were closed, his face very pale. After the doctor had cleaned the blood off his patient, deep bruising had been revealed down past Aramis' temple, ending over his cheekbone. It seemed obvious that he'd been hit with a pistol, and Aramis now sported a bandage around his head, which hid the eight stitches that the doctor had placed to hold the cut together. It was painful, but Aramis hadn't complained, sitting quietly and wincing but never voicing the pain, which was exactly what Treville had expected from him.

After that, Treville could already see a difference in Aramis' usual behavior.

Once the doctor had finished, Treville had helped Aramis stand and pulled one of his arms over his shoulders again as Serge situated the cot. Aramis made no complaint and leaned on him as they slowly walked over. The 'old' Aramis would've insisted that he was fine and taken more of his own weight than he should, not wanting to burden anyone. Helping him was something that Treville was glad to do, but he found himself wishing that Aramis had protested, as it would've helped to reassure him that the old Aramis was still in there somewhere.

Treville berated himself for wanting to be reassured; Aramis was the one who needed support and care. As it was, Treville still hadn't informed Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan of what had happened. He could hear men outside and knew that most of the musketeers were awake and ready for the day, which was why he had Aramis resting in the kitchen and not in his own room; he didn't want to overwhelm him by taking him outside where so many 'strangers' would start asking questions.

Treville decided to notify Aramis' three closest friends one at a time, and he knew which of them would be first: Porthos. Not only because he was closest to Aramis, but because Treville knew that he'd probably kill him if he wasn't told first...he might even kill him for not being told _yet_.

"Captain?" Serge suddenly said.

Treville nodded at him, knowing what he was thinking. He grabbed a chair and walked over to the cot, placing it down and sitting. "Aramis?" he softly said. "Are you awake?"

"Mmm," Aramis answered.

"You have three very close friends here," Treville told him. "We need to tell them what happened, as they're probably wondering where you are at this very moment. Is it all right if I fetch them, one at a time?"

Aramis opened his eyes. "Close friends?"

Treville nodded. "Very close; your chosen brothers. Perhaps seeing them will help your memory to return."

Aramis' eyebrows shot up. "Yes, please."

Treville nodded. "All right. I'll be right back." Treville quickly stood and left, rushing when he realized that all three of the others might already be together. Heading outside, he spotted d'Artagnan immediately and managed to avoid him, dashing up the stairs. At the top, he turned the corner and almost walked right into Porthos. Without a word, he grabbed his arm, turned him around, and walked back down the hall.

Porthos was taken by surprise but submitted. "What's going on?"

"Not out here," Treville said as they reached Porthos' room. He opened the door and they went inside.

"What happened?" Porthos asked.

Treville held up a hand. "I need to tell you something, but you need to remain calm, all right?"

Porthos walked closer. "Is someone hurt?" he exclaimed. "Who is it?"

Treville grabbed him by the shoulders. "Listen to me, you cannot go rushing out of here or you'll only make things worse."

"Make _what_ worse?" Porthos asked, clenching his hands into fists.

Treville sighed. "Aramis is hurt but he'll be fine. I found him outside this morning—" Before he had a chance to finish, Porthos started for the door, but Treville grabbed his arm. "Porthos! Listen to me! You don't even know where he is!"

Porthos turned to look at him.

"He has a cut on his head and some bruising; a doctor has already treated him," Treville told him. "But Porthos…Aramis has lost his memory."

Porthos' face displayed shock. "What?"

"His memory is gone. He doesn't know who we are; he didn't even know that he's a musketeer," said Treville. "You are the only one I've told so far because I don't want to overwhelm him. You can't go barreling in there like a bull, do you understand?"

Porthos looked very upset, but he nodded.

Treville opened the door, and they both left. They didn't encounter Athos along the way; for all they knew, he was sleeping off his most recent hangover and for once, Treville was glad.

They entered the kitchen and Treville grabbed Porthos' arm, pulling him to a stop. "Remember what I said."

Porthos nodded, and they both headed over to the cot where their injured friend lay. Treville stopped Porthos a few feet away and went to sit in the chair. "Aramis?" he said.

Aramis opened his eyes.

"This is Porthos. He is your closest friend," Treville said.

Aramis looked at Porthos and tried to sit up.

Treville helped him before looking at Porthos, who was obviously undergoing a serious struggle but trying to remain calm—outwardly, at least—for Aramis' sake.

"Porthos?" Aramis said.

As if an invisible force had suddenly released him, Porthos hurried forward and knelt beside the cot. "Aramis?" he said. "Do you know who I am?"

Both of them hoped for an, 'of course, how could I forget?' but Aramis studied him for a moment before shaking his head slightly. "No, I'm sorry."

Those three words broke Porthos' heart. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying not to let Aramis see how upset he was.

Aramis could always read Porthos like a book, and it was apparent that he still could. "I'm sorry," he repeated.

Porthos shook his head. "Don't be, it isn't your fault." He studied his friend, noting the bandage and bruising, his pale skin, and tired features. "You don't remember what happened to you?"

Aramis sighed. "No. I assume that I was attacked, but..."

Porthos turned his head to look at Treville. "Athos and d'Artagnan should be here. Maybe he'll remember one of _them_."

"Is that all right with you, Aramis?" Treville asked, taking great care in making sure that Aramis didn't become overwhelmed. The poor man had no choice but to take the word of a group of 'strangers'.

Aramis appeared to trust Treville, which the captain was grateful for. "Yes."

"I'll go get them," Porthos said. He wanted nothing more than to stay with Aramis, but felt that the others needed to hear the situation from _him_.

Treville nodded and watched as he left. He went back to studying Aramis, who was looking at nothing, appearing to think. "Does he seem familiar in any way?"

Aramis hesitated. "I'm…not sure."

That was a potential 'yes'. Treville said nothing more, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts.

A few minutes later, the door opened as the other three came in and quickly headed over.

"Aramis?" d'Artagnan said, looking down at their friend with dismay written all over his face.

Athos knelt beside the cot, much as Porthos had done. "Do you know my name?" he asked.

Aramis blinked and looked from him to d'Artagnan and back again. He tried to remember the names that Porthos had said before he'd left, but everything was so confusing and his head was throbbing…

Treville put a hand on Aramis' arm, before looking at Athos and saying, "He can't remember."

The expression on Athos' face was something that no one saw very often: shock. He said nothing for a few seconds, before finally telling Aramis, "I am Athos." He sighed before gesturing behind himself. "That is d'Artagnan. We are your friends."

D'Artagnan stepped closer. "Your _good_ friends."

Athos looked at Treville, some of his shock being replaced with anger. "What happened?"

Treville shook his head. "I don't know; I found him this morning sitting inside the garrison against the gate. No weapons, no hat…" he sighed. "No memory."

Suddenly, Aramis frowned and started to say something, before changing his mind.

"What is it?" Athos asked.

"Hat?" Aramis echoed.

"You remember something about a hat?" Athos asked. "Something about the one your attacker was wearing?"

The frown stayed on Aramis' face. "I don't…I don't know."

Porthos suddenly growled and punched the wall. "We need to find who did this!" he exclaimed.

Aramis physically jumped, not expecting the outburst.

Treville grabbed Aramis' arm and put his other hand on the injured man's back, leaning closer to him as if to shield him. "Porthos!" he hissed. "Calm down!"

Porthos looked at Aramis, who was breathing too fast, staring at him with apprehension. He realized that he was acting exactly as Treville had described; like a raging bull, and not only that, but he was a complete stranger to their injured friend at the moment. Part of Aramis probably wondered if they were all his enemies, and were lying to him. He immediately dropped to his knees and held out a hesitating hand. "I'm sorry, Aramis," he said.

Aramis said nothing, continuing to watch him.

All three of the musketeers were mortified to see their friend showing fear…fear of _them_ , of all people! This wasn't Aramis.

 _This isn't Aramis._ Realization hit Porthos like a physical blow, and he stood and turned around, walking about ten feet away and leaning against the wall.

Treville looked at Aramis. "Are you all right?"

Aramis said nothing: he looked at each of them one at a time, before saying, "How do I know…" before stopping himself.

They all seemed to understand.

"Look into my eyes," Athos suddenly said.

Aramis obeyed.

"I know that there is no way to convince you that we are telling you the truth, but _everything_ we've said is true," Athos told him, with emotion that not many people in the world had a chance to witness. "And we will find and punish whoever did this to you."

D'Artagnan nodded his agreement.

Aramis stared Athos in the eyes for another few seconds, before looking towards Porthos, who still remained where he'd gone. "Porthos?" he said.

Porthos turned, and if anyone said that he looked close to tears, it would've been true. He came back and knelt beside the cot. "Athos is right. Whoever's responsible for this is gonna pay."

Aramis nodded, with a slight smile.

Porthos slowly reached out and placed a hand on Aramis' shoulder. "I swear it, Aramis. They will _pay_."

"Thank you," Aramis said. "You are good friends."

Porthos' face split into a happy grin at those words, and he squeezed his friend's shoulder.

TBC


	3. What do we Tell Him?

The door suddenly opened again and Serge came inside. "Everyone's almost done eatin' breakfast," he said.

Treville knew that the men were expecting morning muster, and he realized that this was the perfect time to get Aramis up to his room…when everyone was lined up, facing away from the kitchen door. He also knew that Aramis apparently trusted him the most, and wasn't sure if he should have the other three take him there.

"With your permission, I will take care of muster," Athos suddenly said. "Take Aramis to his room."

Treville looked at him and nodded; half of him was amazed that Athos had thought of the same thing, while the other half wasn't surprised at all.

Athos stood and strode to the door, leaving and calling out to the men to get into formation.

"D'Artagnan," Treville said. "Tell me when everyone is lined up and Athos has started taking attendance."

"Right," said d'Artagnan, dashing over to the door and peeking outside.

Treville took Aramis' arm and helped him shift to sit on the side of the cot. "Is it all right if Porthos helps you?" he asked.

"Yes," Aramis said, without hesitation.

Porthos pulled one of Aramis' arms over his shoulders, and they both helped him stand.

Aramis sagged against Porthos and his head drooped.

"I gotcha, Aramis, I gotcha," Porthos said, tightening his grip.

Aramis took a shuddering breath as his head throbbed in time with his heartbeat.

"He's started!" d'Artagnan called out.

Treville tightened his hold on the injured musketeer. "Let's get you out of here."

Aramis submitted as they led him through the kitchen and out the door.

Athos was taking attendance, going slowly enough to give them time to get Aramis from the kitchen to the stairs. The men in formation knew better than to turn around and look if they heard any noise…even if they did, they'd probably think that it was Serge anyway.

Getting Aramis up the stairs wasn't easy, as they had to go slowly. Once they arrived at his room, d'Artagnan opened the door and they led him inside, bringing him over to his bed and carefully laying him down.

"I need to go take over from Athos," Treville said. "Do you feel safe here with Porthos and d'Artagnan?" He hated phrasing it that way in front of the other two, but how else could he say it?

"Yes," Aramis said, closing his eyes and sighing once he was flat. The relief he felt to be lying down with a comfortable pillow under his aching head was enough to make him quickly doze off, and he woke startled when someone suddenly touched the bandage around his head.

"Hey," Porthos said, touching his shoulder. "It's just me. I…wanted to see the damage." He had to keep reminding himself that with Aramis not remembering him, he might not want to be touched so much. "Is that okay?"

Aramis blinked at him, trying to accept the fact that these were his friends and they cared about his health. "Yes."

"Sorry," said Porthos. "I'm not used to this…you not knowin' me."

Aramis sighed again. "I understand."

"If you don't feel comfortable with something, tell us," Porthos said. "You're dealing with enough as it is. We don't want to make it even harder for you."

Aramis nodded slightly. "Thank you."

Porthos nodded back and sliced through the bandage with a knife that Aramis was glad he hadn't seen in his hand. Once the wound was visible, Porthos had to inhale slowly and try to let it out noiselessly in an attempt to keep the anger off his face. The stitched cut was ugly, with dried blood matting the hair around it. The stitches looked strong but weren't done with the skillful neatness that Aramis himself possessed. A scar didn't matter as much on the head where it would be hidden by hair, but it seemed unfair that Aramis should receive stitches that weren't up to his own standard. The bruising covered Aramis' skin from his hairline down a good four inches, and it made Porthos feel sick to realize that the blow could've killed his friend.

Aramis watched his face, seeing the emotions that Porthos was trying to hide.

Porthos sighed and sat back in the chair that he'd placed beside the bed. He looked like he wanted to say something, but stopped.

"Yes?" Aramis sleepily asked.

Porthos shrugged. "I don't know where to begin. I…I can't believe that you don't remember anythin'."

Aramis sighed, and his eyes suddenly closed tiredly.

Porthos wanted nothing more than to tell Aramis anything and everything that had taken place in the years that they'd known each other, but his friend was very pale and in obvious pain, and he knew that it would be kinder to let him rest for now.

D'Artagnan, who'd been fetching more bandages out of Aramis' sack of medical supplies, came over and handed them to Porthos.

"Aramis?" Porthos said. "We gotta rebandage your head."

Aramis opened his eyes slightly, but closed them again. Now that he was lying down, he couldn't keep them open.

The door suddenly opened and Athos slipped in. He looked at Aramis lying quietly on the bed. "How is he?"

"Fading fast," Porthos told him.

Athos bent to peer at the wound, before seeing the fresh bandages on Porthos' lap. He held out his hand for a piece of the cloth, which he placed over the stitches before gently sliding his other hand under Aramis' head, holding it up so Porthos could wrap the cloth around it.

Aramis barely reacted.

Athos carefully laid his friend's head back down on the pillow, and all three of them stared at him.

"What are we going to do about whoever did this?" d'Artagnan whispered. "We have nothing to go on. And what about his memory? Do you think we'll be able to help him get it back?"

Athos sighed. "I don't know." With that, he fetched another chair and sat down.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Sometime later, Aramis suddenly came awake with a jolt, startled but not knowing why. He found three strangers looking down at him, and quickly tried to sit up.

"Hey, where do you think you're goin'?" one of them said, quickly standing from his chair and grabbing his arms, to keep him flat.

"Let go of me!" Aramis exclaimed, fighting to get away.

The other two jumped out of their own chairs and rushed to help, but it became obvious that they were only making the situation worse.

"Let go of him," Athos finally said, releasing his hold.

Porthos looked at him like he was insane.

"He doesn't _remember_ us!" Athos hissed.

Porthos looked at Aramis again before letting go. He took a step back when Athos tugged on his arm, and they all watched as Aramis tried to calm down, breathing heavily and dragging up a hand to place over his forehead.

"Ooooh," Aramis couldn't stop himself from moaning at the pain.

Porthos slowly reclaimed his chair and reached forward to touch his arm. "Take it easy," he said. "You're safe. We're your friends, remember?"

Aramis opened his eyes and squinted at him for a moment. "Athos?" he asked.

Porthos shook his head. "Close."

Aramis looked at all three of them before speaking again. "Porthos."

"That's right," Porthos said, with a smile. He gestured to the other two. "Now, which one of them is Athos? The one on the right or the one on the left?"

"The left," Aramis said without hesitation.

"Pretty good," Porthos said, relieved. "Do you remember _his_ name?" he asked, gesturing to d'Artagnan.

Aramis thought for a minute, before sighing and rubbing his forehead. "I'm sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be," d'Artagnan said. "I understand; d'Artagnan isn't the easiest name to remember."

Aramis continued to rub his forehead. "I won't forget again," he said.

"You need not fear offending us," said Athos. "Just rest."

Aramis sighed, before looking at them with half-opened eyes. "I slept?"

"For an hour," said Porthos. "We were just about to wake you."

"Why?" Aramis asked.

"Because you taught us well," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis was confused.

D'Artagnan realized the problem. "Sorry...you're what the garrison calls our medic. When someone is hurt or ill, you're the one who usually treats them."

Nothing could've surprised Aramis more. "I am?"

He nodded.

Aramis blinked. "I don't remember."

No one was very surprised. Porthos reached over to touch his arm. "Don't worry, it'll all come back."

"When?" Aramis asked. "I can't tell you how upsetting it is to not know myself, or _anyone_!"

Porthos squeezed his arm. "We're gonna do everythin' in our power to help you."

Aramis sighed before rubbing his forehead again.

"Does anything seem familiar?" d'Artagnan asked. "Anything at all?"

Aramis sighed. "Yes..." But he stopped there and opened his eyes with a frown.

"What is it?" Porthos asked.

"I...can't remember his name," Aramis said.

"Captain Treville?"

"Yes," said Aramis. "He seems familiar. I'm sorry that it wasn't any of you."

"Don't be," Athos said. "You've known him the longest."

Aramis' eyes slipped shut again. Talking was not agreeing with his headache.

Everyone remained quiet, and a few minutes later, it was obvious that Aramis had fallen back to sleep.

Porthos looked at Athos. "We gotta decide what to tell him," he whispered.

D'Artagnan frowned. "What do you mean?"

"We should leave some things out," Porthos said. "Like Savoy. That's one thing I hope he _never_ remembers."

"But we _must_ tell him," Athos disagreed. "That could be what he needs to hear in order for his memory to return."

Porthos took a deep breath and let it out heavily, before shaking his head with dismay.

"We need to tell him everything that was important or significant," Athos told them. Suddenly it hit him; what about the recent 'incident' between Aramis and the Queen? If he told Aramis about it, Aramis might mention it in front of the wrong person. That was definitely something that had to wait.

"But what about the fact that whoever did this to Aramis is getting away with it?" said d'Artagnan. "We need to find out who it was! How do we know that they aren't going to come after Aramis again?"

"We have to push him to remember," Athos said. "That's the only way."

All three of them stared at Aramis silently, knowing that it was not going to be easy.

TBC


	4. What Happened?

An hour later, they woke Aramis again, just as he had taught them to do with a concussion victim. He woke slowly, wincing at the throbbing pain in his head and giving a soft moan. A hand touched his arm and he opened his eyes, jumping slightly at the sight of the three men around the bed.

Porthos frowned and quickly removed his hand. "We're your friends," he quickly said.

Aramis closed his eyes with a sigh. "I remember."

Everyone was relieved.

Aramis was thirsty, and reopened his eyes. "Could I have some water?"

"Of course," Porthos said, grabbing the pitcher on the nightstand and pouring some into a cup. He gently lifted Aramis high enough to drink it and held the glass for him.

Aramis drank it slowly, making sure that his stomach would accept it.

Porthos was patient, and once the cup was empty, he put it down and carefully lowered Aramis back down to the pillow. "Do you remember what happened to you?" he asked.

Aramis sighed, his eyes closed again. "No."

"How about the events of last night?" Athos asked. "The four of us went to the tavern, do you recall that?"

"No," Aramis repeated, eyes still closed.

Athos came closer and sat on the other side of the bed. "Think," he said. "We had supper and shared two bottles of wine—"

"We shared _one_ bottle, Athos had the other," Porthos quipped.

D'Artagnan chuckled and Athos shot Porthos a look.

"What?" Porthos said. "He might remember _that_ more than anythin', for all we know!"

"Aramis?" Athos said, when there was no reaction from their injured friend.

"Hey," said Porthos, touching his arm. "Don't go out on us again."

Aramis reopened his eyes and blinked. "Tired," he said.

Porthos sighed and looked at Athos.

Athos sympathized, but they didn't have anymore time to waste. "If we're to find whoever did this to you, you need to tell us something, _anything_ , Aramis." He grasped their injured friend's arm. "Look at me."

Aramis obeyed.

"We had supper at our usual tavern," he said. "Does that sound familiar at all?"

Aramis thought for a few seconds. "No."

"We were served a chicken dinner," d'Artagnan said. "At _your_ choice."

"You remarked to the barmaid that the bird looked delicious," said Porthos. He grinned. "But we weren't sure if you meant the chicken or _her_!"

They expected a reaction to that, but the expression on Aramis' face was blank as he tiredly blinked.

"You don't remember," d'Artagnan said, disappointed.

"Noooo," Aramis answered, and if they didn't know better, it would've sounded like a whine...though, even _Aramis_ didn't know himself at the moment... "Please, no more questions for now...let me sleep..." He covered his eyes with one hand again.

Porthos felt terrible to have had a hand in upsetting him and opened his mouth to say something, but Athos held up a hand to stop him before standing from the bed.

Porthos sighed as he watched his friend, who hadn't moved from his position. He squeezed Aramis' shoulder before standing, and the three of them gathered in the far corner to quietly speak.

"We're gonna have to ease off on him," d'Artagnan said. "Maybe he'll be more like himself later after he gets some rest."

Everyone was quiet for a moment, as d'Artagnan's words sunk in.

"But who knows when he'll be 'more like himself'?" said Porthos, with a sigh.

Everyone looked towards the bed at their friend, lying motionless with his eyes closed.

"He still needs to be woken in an hour," said Athos. "We'll see how he is then."

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Strange voices and sounds filled Aramis' dreams, but he was unable to make sense of anything, as he felt like he was floating in a thick mist. He couldn't understand the words or recognize the voices, but there was the distant sound of clashing metal, and it stirred something within his blood, leaving something familiar in his consciousness that he tried to grasp. It eluded him though, and faded away as someone started calling his name.

"Aramis? Aramis?"

A hand gently tapped the uninjured side of his face, and he winced and opened his eyes. "What happened?" he said, before anyone else could speak.

Porthos frowned from where he sat on the side of the bed. "You have a head injury—"

"No," Aramis interrupted. "Not that."

"What, then?" Athos asked, standing beside the bed.

Aramis hesitated. What was he going to say?

D'Artagnan was sitting in the chair beside the bed, and he leaned forward with his hands clasped. "Did you remember something?"

Aramis hesitated again. He knew that he'd been dreaming, but all recollection had been lost when he'd woken, especially with the pounding in his head. He closed his eyes and put a hand over them with a wince. "Not sure...I was dreaming."

The other three looked at each other. Aramis' sleep had not been peaceful, and they all wondered if it had been a nightmare of Savoy. Aramis' question of 'what happened?' seemed to possibly confirm it.

"Do you wish to discuss it?" Athos asked.

Aramis took a few deep breaths as his head continued to pound. "No," he simply said, his voice a whisper.

Porthos reached over for the pitcher and cup on the nightstand. "Can you drink some water?" he asked.

Aramis thought for a few seconds. His stomach felt a little unsettled, but it was nowhere near as bad as it could be considering his concussion. He wondered how he knew that as he said, "Yes."

Athos stepped forward to raise Aramis up slightly while Porthos held the cup. Aramis drank it slowly, eyes remaining closed.

D'Artagnan watched silently, looking at Athos when he heard him sigh. Despite his usual stoic demeanor, it was obvious—to him and Porthos, at least—that he was very upset over Aramis' condition.

Porthos' feelings were written all over his face; he was devastated, but trying to hide it as much as he could, for Aramis' sake.

Once Aramis finished the water, Athos laid his head back down gently, squeezing his shoulder before letting go.

For the rest of the day, the scene repeated itself; waking Aramis over and over to make sure he didn't lose consciousness. Aramis didn't handle it very well, wanting to be free of the pain for more than an hour at a time.

Near suppertime, Treville returned. "I'm sorry," he said. "Louis sent for me and I was stuck at the palace all day. How's Aramis?"

"Frustrated at being woken every hour," d'Artagnan answered.

"Has he remembered anything?" Treville whispered, as he walked closer to the bed and looked down at their injured friend.

"No," said Athos. "He had a dream that we suspect may have been about Savoy, but then again, it could've been anything. He was in too much pain to tell us of it."

Treville sighed.

Porthos echoed it from where he sat on the side of the bed watching Aramis sleep. "We might never find out who did this," he whispered.

"I might have an idea," said Treville.

Three heads swiveled away from the bed to look at him.

"The king was petitioned today," Treville told them. "Some of the people were complaining about a thief roaming the streets."

"A thief?" said Porthos. "A simple thief couldn't have done this to Aramis! He wasn't struck from behind."

That was true; the still-darkening bruise that had spread down Aramis' temple and the side of his cheekbone made that obvious.

"Perhaps there was more than one," Treville said. He shrugged. "We have nothing else to go on, as yet."

"If there were a few of them," said d'Artagnan. "They could've grabbed him before he had a chance to fight. Even a musketeer can be taken by surprise."

That was true.

"We need him to remember," said Porthos. "Something. _Anything_!"

Everyone was quite for a moment, watching Aramis sleep.

"It has been an hour," said Athos. He looked at Treville. "Perhaps you should wake him this time. He told us that you seem familiar to him."

Treville was glad to hear that. "It's a start," he said. He sat on the other side of the bed rather than make Porthos vacate his seat, and placed a hand on their injured friend's shoulder. "Aramis?" he called. "You need to wake for a moment."

Aramis gave no reaction.

"Aramis," Treville repeated, squeezing his shoulder that time. "You need to wake."

Their friend gave a sharp intake of breath as consciousness filled his senses, and he winced, with a groan.

Treville waited for Aramis' eyes to open, and when they didn't, he squeezed his shoulder again. "Aramis? It's Captain Treville."

Finally, Aramis' brown eyes became visible, and he blinked up at him. "Captain," he whispered. "They're all dead."

The other three Musketeers were taken by surprise at his words, but Treville didn't seem to be. Instead, he said, "You're safe, Aramis."

Aramis blinked, saying nothing else for a few seconds, before his expression turned confused. "What?" he said.

"You're safe," Treville repeated.

Aramis looked around the room, before he raised a hand to his aching head. "Who's dead? Why did I say that?"

Everyone looked at Treville, who sighed. "There was an…incident…that you were involved in, in a place called Savoy. Does that sound familiar?"

Aramis thought for a minute. "No."

No one was surprised. Aramis had been so traumatized by the Savoy massacre that his mind had probably jumped at the chance to forget it.

Treville sighed. "Twenty-two of you went on what you thought was a training mission, but the Duke of Savoy was told that it was an assassination attempt. It turned out to really be a distraction to save the king's sister who spies for France as the duke's wife. You were one of two survivors."

Aramis said nothing.

"The other was a man named Marsac," said Athos. "He saved your life, but then deserted." He hadn't the heart to tell Aramis that they'd been close friends and Marsac had abandoned him…or that Aramis had killed him when he'd returned bent on killing Treville for revenge.

Aramis still said nothing.

"This doesn't sound familiar?" said Treville.

Aramis shook his head slightly, before wincing at the foolish action. "No."

Despite the situation, everyone was partly relieved.

"It's suppertime," Treville said. "Can you eat?"

Aramis' stomach still felt unsettled. "I don't know."

Treville looked at the other three. "Has he been ill at all?"

They all shook their heads.

Treville was glad to hear that. "The broth you drank earlier didn't bother you," he said to Aramis. "Think you can handle some more?"

"Perhaps," Aramis answered.

Treville looked at d'Artagnan, and the youngest musketeer quickly left, knowing that he was telling him to fetch it.

"Can your head handle sitting up?" Treville asked next.

Aramis rubbed his forehead, not entirely sure. He really didn't feel like moving.

Treville could see that he was indecisive, and decided to wait.

D'Artagnan came back with a tray of food and the broth, and Aramis allowed them to lift him up slightly, sticking an extra pillow behind him. They helped him drink the broth, and as before, his stomach handled it fine. He fell back to sleep soon after.

Athos took Treville's arm and pulled him away from the bed. "Has anyone seen this thief?"

Treville sighed. "Apparently he—or they—always strike at night. No one was able to give a clear description."

Athos nodded. "How long has this been going on?"

"A few weeks," Treville answered.

"We need to retrace Aramis' steps after leaving the tavern last night," Athos said.

Treville nodded his agreement. "That is your new duty; stay with Aramis, help him regain his memory."

Athos nodded. "We will."

TBC


	5. Making Progress

The night passed slowly, with Athos, Porthos, and d'Artagnan taking turns watching over Aramis and waking him when necessary. Aramis woke each time without too much difficulty, but grew more frustrated from the wakings; he was exhausted and in pain and wanted to be left alone.

The next morning, the first thing Treville did was send for the doctor to take another look at Aramis. He was pleased to hear that the musketeers had been diligent in waking the patient lest he lose consciousness, and told them that they could let Aramis sleep longer that day between wakings. "If that fails and you can't wake him, fetch me immediately," the doctor told them, before he left.

Aramis lay there blinking tiredly before closing his eyes. His head was still throbbing and he felt like he hadn't slept in a week.

"Aramis?" Porthos asked, sitting on the bed. "Do you think you can eat breakfast?"

Aramis mumbled something that they couldn't decipher.

"What was that?" d'Artagnan said.

"Sleep," Aramis repeated more clearly.

Porthos sighed, but stood from the bed, not surprised when Aramis was asleep again within a minute.

"We're going to investigate," Athos told him, indicating d'Artagnan and himself. "Stay with Aramis."

Porthos nodded, glad to be the one to stay; Athos knew that Porthos would never want to leave Aramis at a time like this.

The two musketeers left the garrison, and d'Artagnan looked at Athos. "Where are we going?" he asked.

"To wherever you and Aramis split up after the two of you left last night," said Athos.

D'Artagnan nodded, wishing that they'd all left together. Instead, Athos hadn't been finished drinking and Porthos had been involved in a card game. Aramis and d'Artagnan had left and eventually parted ways when d'Artagnan had headed for the Bonacieux's home. He took the lead and they rode in that direction, looking for clues and not spotting anything along the way. They asked passers-by if they'd seen or heard anything, and always received 'no' for an answer.

"Right here," said d'Artagnan.

Athos dismounted and studied the ground and surrounding buildings, looking for blood or any of Aramis' missing effects. "Did you hear anything strange?" he asked.

D'Artagnan came up beside him. "Nothing. I simply went that way from here and he continued on towards the garrison."

"Did you actually see him?" Athos asked. "Did you turn around?"

D'Artagnan shook his head.

The two of them continued to look and spotted nothing, so they took the reins of their horses and started to walk.

"I shouldn't have stayed at the tavern," Athos suddenly said.

D'Artagnan looked at him, shocked to hear the usually-stoic Athos express his regret. Their situation was unusually dire—with Aramis not remembering them—so d'Artagnan realized that he shouldn't be surprised that Athos was blaming himself. "It wasn't just you; Porthos stayed too."

Athos sighed and said nothing more.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

In Aramis' room, Porthos silently watched him sleep. It was agonizing to know that his closest friend didn't know who he was, and it caused Porthos literal pain to realize that Aramis might never regain his memory. All the years that they'd been friends…the good times, the bad times, the joy, the pain…it would all be gone forever. Part of him was glad for Aramis to forget the torment of Savoy and the other horrors that they'd experienced as musketeers, but would Aramis' normal personality ever return? Would they ever again share the same camaraderie and the same interests, or would Aramis turn into someone completely different?

With a sigh, Porthos closed his eyes and scrubbed a hand across his face. He didn't want to reopen them and see the pale, injured stranger lying senseless in the bed…he wanted to see _Aramis_ , his friend with the twinkling eyes and happy smile.

What he saw turned out to be neither: instead, Aramis was awake with his eyes open, watching him.

Porthos was slightly startled and quickly lowered his hand. "Aramis? Do you need somethin'?"

"Why did he do this to me?" Aramis whispered.

Porthos blinked. "Who? Was it the thief?"

"Th—thief?" Aramis stuttered, confused.

"Who hit you, Aramis?" Porthos asked, leaning forward in his chair and grasping his friend's arm. "Do you remember?"

Aramis blinked slowly. "A soldier."

Porthos' eyes shot up. "A soldier? You mean a red guard? Which one?"

Aramis gave no reply.

Porthos squeezed his friend's arm. "Tell me what happened."

Aramis slowly blinked again. "It was sudden."

"Where were you?" Porthos asked.

Aramis closed his eyes. "Far from here. It was cold."

"In an ally or somethin'?" Porthos asked. "How far from the garrison?"

"Very far," Aramis said, eyes still closed. "Days."

Porthos suddenly got a sinking feeling in his stomach. "Days? Was anyone with you, Aramis?"

"Yes," Aramis whispered.

Porthos sighed when his suspicion was confirmed. "You and twenty-one others were attacked in the night, right?"

"Yes," Aramis whispered again.

So Aramis wasn't speaking of the recent attack; rather, his mind was confusing the incident with Savoy, especially since he was in bed with a similar head wound.

"Just sleep, Aramis," Porthos told him. "You'll be fine, I promise."

Aramis said nothing else, falling back to sleep once more.

Porthos leaned back in his chair and tilted his head up towards the ceiling, sighing again as he hoped that Athos and d'Artagnan would quickly find out what had happened.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Athos and d'Artagnan found nothing and went back to the garrison to locate Treville. Once they found him, Athos asked if he had a list of people who'd been robbed by the thief.

Treville nodded and took something out of his jacket. "I knew you'd ask."

Athos took it and read the list of names and addresses before heading towards the stable.

"You think one of them might've been a witness to whatever happened to Aramis?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos sighed. "Perhaps; he may have come upon the thief in the middle of a robbery and attempted to stop him."

D'Artagnan nodded. "If so, then Aramis may be the one person who can identify him." He made a face. "If only he could _remember_ him."

The two musketeers left the garrison again and questioned all of the thief's victims, but again learned nothing. It was hours later when they returned—disappointed—to the garrison.

"If we don't find this thief, do you think it will be harder for Aramis to regain his memory?" d'Artagnan asked.

Athos was glad to hear his optimism; he hadn't asked if Aramis would never regain it _at all_. "It may. If we can find the man and bring him before Aramis, the sight of him might bring back a memory of the incident..."

"And hopefully everything _else_ ," said d'Artagnan.

Heading to Aramis' room, they found him asleep with Porthos sitting beside the bed.

"He might be rememberin'," Porthos whispered. "He mentioned Savoy."

"Of all the things to remember first," d'Artagnan lamented.

Porthos told them everything. "It seemed like he was half-asleep though. He might not remember when he wakes up."

The others weren't sure whether to be glad of that or not as they sat in their own chairs and awaited Aramis waking again.

When he did, it was with the same near-panic as the first time.

"Where am I?!" Aramis exclaimed, before wincing and putting a hand on his head.

The other three wisely refrained from touching him.

"You're _home_ ," Porthos answered.

Aramis spent a full minute breathing heavily against the pain, with his eyes closed. When he finally opened them, he looked calmer. "I remember. Forgive me."

"There's no reason for forgiveness," d'Artagnan said. "We understand."

"We tried to find out what happened to you," Athos told him. "But after retracing your steps, we found nothing."

Aramis sighed. "I need to go there myself."

Porthos frowned. "You can't even get out of bed, how are you supposed to do _that_?"

"I want my memory back," Aramis told him. "There's nothing _in_ here!" he said, pointing at his head.

"We've been tellin' ya that for years!" Porthos said.

Everyone chuckled at that, even Aramis, to their delight.

"I can't live this way," Aramis told them. "It's frightening."

The 'old' Aramis wouldn't have admitted that so freely, and it drove home the fact that he really wasn't himself.

Athos nodded. "Not today. Night will soon fall and you need the rest. We'll discuss it tomorrow."

Aramis couldn't ask for more and nodded slightly.

"How's the pain?" Porthos asked. "Any better?"

"Only when I don't move," Aramis answered.

His answer was something else that Aramis would likely not have said if he'd been himself, usually professing to be 'fine'.

"Well then, don't move," said d'Artagnan, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

Aramis smiled slightly and closed his eyes.

Suppertime came and Aramis only submitted to drinking more broth, not wanting to risk his unsettled stomach rebelling from the presence of food. He managed to remain awake longer that night, and slept peacefully until Porthos woke him. He'd blinked at him blearily, winced at the pain, and fell back to sleep without a word.

After that, his sleep was more restless, and he woke by himself a few hours before dawn and suddenly tried to sit up.

Athos grabbed his shoulders. "Aramis?"

Aramis looked at him, his eyes opened wide and his breathing much too fast. "Where is she?!" he exclaimed.

Athos caught his breath, desperately hoping that Aramis wasn't about to shout to the whole garrison what he and the Queen had foolishly done a month prior.

"My mother!" Aramis said, trying to get up again but changing his mind when the pain hit him. He groaned and closed his eyes, putting a hand to his forehead and going limp.

Athos didn't expect to hear that, and glanced at Porthos and d'Artagnan, who'd woken and were staring. "Your mother?"

"We were walking," Aramis told them, wincing with his eyes still closed. "A man tried to rob us. She told me to run."

Everyone's eyebrows shot up.

"Aramis," said d'Artagnan. "How old are you?"

"Seven," Aramis told him.

Everyone was speechless.

"Aramis," said Athos, squeezing his upper arms. "You're twenty-eight. That was a long time ago."

Aramis continued to breathe heavily for another few seconds before opening his eyes and blinking at them from under his hand. "I am? I was wondering."

No one knew what to say.

"Did that really happen?" Porthos asked.

Aramis sighed. "Yes. She told me to run but I didn't. The man hit my mother and wrapped his arms around her but she kicked him and he dropped his pistol and..." he hesitated. "I picked it up and shot him in the leg. My mother took my hand and we ran." He suddenly blinked. "Does she still live? I don't recall."

Everyone hesitated.

"No," Athos told him. "She doesn't."

Aramis sighed and rubbed his forehead.

No one knew what to say for a moment, until d'Artagnan suddenly said, "Well at least we know that your memory is returning."

"True!" said Porthos. "Is there anything else you remember?"

Aramis thought for a minute. "No." He sounded disappointed.

"You're making progress," said Athos. "Give it time, it'll come back to you. For now, just rest."

Aramis sighed again but eventually fell back to sleep, hoping that Athos was right.

TBC


	6. Not Ready

Dawn soon rose, and Aramis woke just before breakfast. The others tried to convince him to try some eggs and he agreed, eating the first bite carefully and waiting to make sure that his concussion didn't cause his stomach to rebel.

Captain Treville came in as Aramis silently stared at his plate. "They're called 'eggs'," he said.

Everyone chucked.

Aramis smiled. "I _do_ recall that, at least."

"He's just makin' sure that he can eat 'em," Porthos explained.

Treville nodded.

Aramis eventually ate another bite and then a few more before stopping, unconsciously rubbing his stomach.

"Perhaps you should stop there," Treville said.

Aramis nodded slightly and relaxed against the pillows. "I'm all right," he said. "I just don't want to go too far the first time."

Treville nodded back and reached over to take the plate. "Very wise."

By lunchtime, Aramis felt better and actually ate some of Serge's soup instead of just broth. He noticed how everyone was staring at him and he wondered why. "Are you waiting for something to happen?" he asked.

"Just wondering if that tastes familiar," Porthos said.

Aramis frowned and looked down at the bowl. "It tastes like soup; very good soup."

The others were slightly disappointed.

"That's your favorite," said d'Artagnan.

"Serge makes it just for you," Porthos told him.

Aramis frowned. "Serge? Oh, the old man in the kitchen?"

"Don't let _him_ hear you call him that," said Athos.

"He was a soldier before all four of you were even born," Treville told him. "And still feisty. He's been our cook since the musketeer regiment was founded. In fact, Aramis, _you_ were the first man to join."

Aramis looked at him with surprise. "I was?"

Treville nodded. "The garrison was being built and you walked in one day and announced that you were joining. I admit that I was surprised at your boldness, as you looked younger than you were and I doubted your experience."

"How old was I?" Aramis asked.

"Barely twenty," Treville told him. "Old enough to be the soldier that you were, but until you demonstrated your unmatched marksmanship and beat me at swordplay—within an hour of introducing yourself—I'd never thought that I could ever been more amazed."

Aramis was shocked, and to everyone's surprise, he blushed slightly. "Thank you for the compliment," he said, shyly.

D'Artagnan and Porthos exchanged glances, not expecting the normally-outspoken Aramis to be bashful.

Athos and Treville were likewise surprised. "I don't mean to embarrass you," Treville told him. "I'd hoped that perhaps the story might help your memory to return."

Aramis sighed, looking depressed. "I don't remember it."

Porthos looked at Treville. "Aramis wants to retrace his steps from the other night. Can we bring him to the tavern later?"

Treville looked at Aramis. "I don't think you're well enough."

"I can't live this way," Aramis told him. "I want to try."

Treville couldn't blame him. He looked at the others. "When do you plan to go?"

"Not late," said Athos. "As long as it's dark, the surroundings should have the same effect."

Treville nodded. "Get him out of bed in a little while and we'll see how he handles being up."

An hour later, they did just that, sitting him up on the side of the bed and waiting for the resulting dizziness to ease before Porthos pulled one of Aramis' arms over his shoulders and pulled him upright.

Aramis immediately put his other hand to his head, closing his eyes with a groan.

Everyone watched and Porthos waited for some indication that Aramis could walk, but Aramis groaned again and lowered his head.

"Sit him down," said Treville. "He's not ready."

Porthos hesitated, expecting Aramis to protest, but he didn't. They realized again that Aramis' usual behavior was gone, and Porthos carefully lowered him down to sit, grabbing his shoulder to keep him upright as he sat beside him.

Aramis kept his hand on the bandage, right over the stitches. He was breathing fast and groaned again, lowering his head further.

Treville grabbed one of the chairs and placed it in front of their suffering friend, sitting on it and reaching out to touch his arm. "Aramis?"

"It hurts," Aramis whispered.

Everyone felt their stomachs clench in sympathy and worry; it was so strange to see Aramis acting so opposite to his usual self. They were so used to Aramis always telling them that he was fine.

A sudden thought struck Porthos. Aramis was easily admitting to both fear and pain; was this how he _really_ felt, and his usual assurances to the contrary were a front?

Athos had a similar thought, and he and Porthos shared a silent conversation.

D'Artagnan didn't notice, having eyes only for their suffering friend. He'd known the others for only eight months, and therefore didn't have the years of experience with Aramis that the others had. "Should I fetch the doctor?" he asked.

Treville sighed. "Aramis? Is the pain getting any better?"

Aramis raised his head slightly and opened his eyes before closing them again. "Yes, but everything is spinning."

"That's normal, considering," Treville told him. "Do you want us to fetch the doctor?"

Aramis hesitated. "No," he finally said. Another minute passed before he raised his head and reopened his eyes, squinting from the pain. "Can we...try again?" he asked.

"Are you sure you want to?" Porthos asked.

"Yes," Aramis said though his tone said 'no'.

Porthos helped him stand again, and they all watched as Aramis briefly closed his eyes before reopening them and taking a step.

It was obvious that Aramis was dizzy, as he leaned most of his weight on Porthos at first and his steps were shaky as they slowly walked around the room. He seemed to regain some equilibrium after a minute or two, growing more steady as they walked.

"Can we go outside?" Aramis suddenly asked.

Treville looked ready to refuse, but changed his mind. Maybe Aramis would see something out there that would bring his memory back, making their tavern trip unnecessary.

After helping Aramis with his clothes, they carefully helped him get outside and sat him at the table.

"Anything look familiar?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis looked around, glad that it was cloudy; the last thing he needed was the sun in his eyes. "No."

Suddenly Athos strode towards the stable, and a thought hit the others like a ton of bricks: maybe Aramis would remember his horse! When Athos suddenly came out leading Bella, they all watched Aramis, hoping for a sign of recognition.

Aramis watched with interest as the lovely animal was brought over. "Your horse?" he said. "She's beautiful."

Everyone sighed, though they all noticed that Aramis had correctly stated her gender.

"No," Athos said. "She belongs to _you_."

Aramis blinked. "This is _my_ horse?"

Bella neighed as if to say, 'of course I am, stupid!'

Aramis stood, swaying to one side and reaching out for balance. Porthos had anticipated it and took hold of him before he could fall, helping Aramis take careful steps around Bella while he looking her over with amazement. He finally sat back down on the bench and ran his hand down her forehead and nose.

Bella neighed again as if to say, 'what's wrong with you?'

"What do I call her?" Aramis asked.

Treville held out a hand before anyone could answer. "You have no idea? What would you name her if this were the very first time you saw her?"

Aramis thought for a moment as he continued to stroke her. Before he had a chance to reply, a sudden gunshot sounded and Aramis jumped in his seat, making a sound of pain and grabbing his head.

The sight was unexpected to all of them; Aramis was well-known for never flinching. It was yet another sign that his injury had changed him.

Porthos reached over and clamped his hands over his friend's ears. "STOP SHOOTIN'!" he bellowed to whichever musketeers were currently practicing.

No more gunshots followed, and Porthos removed his hands. "Aramis?" he said.

Pain-filled brown eyes opened. "Where did that come from?" he asked, hands still on his head.

"That way," said d'Artagnan, gesturing with his thumb.

"Do you recall what you are best at in the regiment?" Athos suddenly asked.

Aramis looked at him and lowered his hands, still wincing. "I'm the best at something?"

Everyone nodded.

"I gave you a clue earlier," said Treville.

"Shooting?" said Aramis.

"Sharpshooting, to be precise," Treville told him. "You are unmatched."

Aramis was surprised. "I wouldn't be unmatched _today_ ," he said. He raised a hand again and rubbed his forehead.

"You should go back inside," Athos said, taking Aramis' arm.

"No," Aramis answered. "Show me where they were shooting."

Carefully, they helped Aramis stand and brought him over to where the targets were set up.

"Look familiar?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis looked around, absentmindedly bringing a hand to his head again. He slowly turned before looking at the targets again. "No."

Everyone's hearts sunk.

"You've spent thousands of hours in this very spot over the years," said Porthos.

Aramis looked at him, his expression growing upset.

"Take it easy," Treville said, reaching for his other arm and giving it a squeeze.

Aramis sighed, closing his eyes for a few seconds. "I can't take this," he said. "I want myself _back_."

"Maybe our idea for later will work," said d'Artagnan. "The tavern might help you remember."

Aramis reopened his eyes, and a spark of hope entered them.

"Come, now," said Athos, again taking his arm. "You should rest."

Aramis cooperated, not protesting as they brought him back to his room and put him to bed. He was asleep a few minutes later, and the others exchanged glances.

"If the tavern doesn't work out, he'll be devastated," d'Artagnan whispered.

"So will we," said Porthos.

Aramis slept through the afternoon and had more soup for supper. Just after it grew dark, they helped him dress and got him to the stable.

"I don't think this is a good idea," Porthos told Athos. "His head can't be ready for riding yet."

"I agree with you," said Athos. "But that wouldn't stop either of _us_."

Porthos nodded, watching as d'Artagnan finished saddling Bella. He reached for Aramis' arm to help him stand from the bale of hay that he was sitting on, and waited for his friend to stop blinking. "If you're dizzy now, ridin' is gonna make it worse."

Aramis sighed. "I know, but I've already come this far," he said.

It was a jolt to hear him agree instead of saying his usual, 'I'm fine', and they all desperately hoped that they wouldn't regret this as they helped him mount.

Once atop Bella, Aramis clutched the pommel of the saddle with one hand and held the other to his head. He sucked in a noisy breath through his teeth and closed his eyes, lowering his head slightly as he swayed.

All three of the others grabbed onto him, and they were all startled when Treville's voice suddenly came from behind them. "You should be getting him _down,_ not helping him stay up there!"

"I...have to...do this," Aramis answered before any of the others could.

Everyone watched as he slowly lowered his hand away from his head, before blinking down at them. "I _have_ to," he repeated.

Athos, agreeing wholeheartedly, let go of him and mounted his own horse.

D'Artagnan looked at Treville for a second before making a rueful face and mounting next.

"You gonna be able to stay up there if I let go?" Porthos asked Aramis.

Aramis let loose a ragged sigh. "Yes."

Treville headed over and reached up to take his arm, freeing Porthos, who likewise mounted. "Are you sure about this?" he asked.

"Yes," Aramis said.

Porthos walked his horse over to Aramis' and took his arm so Treville could let go.

"Be careful," Treville cautioned, not wanting his musketeer to come home in even worse shape.

"We will," Porthos told him.

With that, the four musketeers slowly rode out of the stable and through the gate. Treville watched until they disappeared, before heading to his office with a sigh.

TBC


	7. There You Are!

Aramis was grateful for Porthos' strong grip on his arm as they rode; he was right that riding would make the dizziness worse. Aramis tried to sit up straight in the saddle, but his head felt too heavy.

Everyone watched him, knowing that he was in pain. It really was much too soon for Aramis to make this attempt, but they couldn't blame him for trying.

The tavern wasn't too far, thankfully, and once they arrived, Porthos carefully pulled him out of the saddle, holding on tightly when Aramis closed his eyes and gasped, putting a hand over his eyes.

"Take it easy, we've got all night," Porthos soothed.

A few minutes later, they were walking in, and Aramis stopped just inside the door, wincing as he looked around.

The others waited, hoping that something would look familiar.

Nothing did, and Aramis hesitated before taking another step, knowing that the noise inside was going to cause his head even more pain.

"There you are!" a female voice exclaimed.

Aramis gasped when he was suddenly grabbed and turned around. Lips firmly planted themselves on his own, but the sudden motion upset his unstable equilibrium and he tipped sideways, knees buckling beneath him.

"Whoa!" Porthos exclaimed, grabbing Aramis under his arms from behind and stopping him from a painful collision with the wall.

The lady was surprised when the feel of Aramis' lips vanished, and she opened her eyes and gave a cry of shock when he went down.

Porthos guided Aramis down to sit on the step.

"Can you see that he's injured?!" d'Artagnan exclaimed.

The woman looked from one to the other of them, frightened at the look of steel in Athos' eyes. "What happened to him?!" she exclaimed.

"He is concussed," Athos told her as he ducked down to look into Aramis' face.

The girl finally saw the bandage around Aramis' head peeking out from under his hat. "I'm so sorry, Aramis!" she exclaimed, before sitting beside him on the step and grasping his arm.

Aramis had both of his hands on his lowered head, which was throbbing and spinning. It was another minute before he could open his eyes and look at her. "Not your fault," he said, wincing.

"Can you get up?" she asked. "I'll get you some of the special broth that you love so much."

Athos and Porthos helped Aramis stand and guided him to a nearby table, where he sat and put one elbow on the wood so he could prop his heavy head up in one hand.

The girl hurried to the kitchen, and Aramis looked at the others, moving just his eyes. "How well do I know that woman?"

"How well do you know _every_ woman!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis looked at him blankly.

"You have a following," d'Artagnan exclaimed, with a smile. "Everywhere you go, women fall at your feet."

Aramis blinked. "Why?"

"Have you looked in a mirror?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis closed his eyes. "No."

The other three realized with shock that he was being literal; he'd either been in bed or they had helped him dress, not requiring him to check his appearance in a mirror.

Athos was the first to speak. "Her name is Suzette and it is no secret that she is enamored of you. She's been a barmaid here for several months."

Aramis nodded slightly in thanks, his head still propped in his left hand.

Suzette came back quickly with wine for the others and broth for him in a cup. "What else can I get you?" she asked him.

Athos spoke before Aramis had to answer. "We will not be here long; we are trying to discover how Aramis obtained his injury last night after we left."

"You don't know what happened?" she asked.

"He can't remember," Porthos told her. "You didn't hear of anythin' happenin' last night, did you?"

She shook her head. "Nothing but more robberies."

"Where?" d'Artagnan asked.

"A few streets away from here," she told them. "You passed them on your way to get here tonight."

"That must be it," said d'Artagnan. "Aramis, you must've come upon the thief and tried to stop him."

Aramis looked at him over the cup of broth that Porthos was helping him drink. "I don't know."

"Well let's go find out," said Porthos.

They made Aramis drink all the broth before they assisted him out of the tavern.

"You and d'Artagnan left together," Athos told him. "So it would make sense for the two of you to walk ahead if you're to recall anything...if you are able?"

Aramis sighed; he was feeling worse and worse as time passed. "I have no choice."

Again, it was jarring for him to give an answer admitting to feeling unwell.

D'Artagnan gently took Aramis by the arm and walked beside him, while Athos and Porthos followed about ten feet behind them.

Aramis was quiet, walking slowly and not protesting d'Artagnan's grip.

"You all right?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Considering," was Aramis' answer.

"Does anything look familiar?"

Aramis hesitated. "No."

D'Artagnan sighed.

They continued to walk, until Aramis asked, "Where did we part?"

D'Artagnan pointed. "Up ahead."

Aramis said nothing else, and when they reached the place, d'Artagnan let go of Aramis and turned right without a word.

Aramis stopped and watched him, opening his mouth to say something but closing it when d'Artagnan quickly vanished in the dark.

Athos grabbed Porthos by the arm and hid behind the building beside them, peering around the corner to see what Aramis did, hoping that his memory would return.

Porthos frowned, not liking it. He watched as Aramis turned around unsteadily, faltering on weak legs but remaining standing. He didn't continue on towards the garrison like they hoped, or even call out to them; Aramis turned around again, looking straight ahead and then down the street where d'Artagnan had gone.

"Wait," said Athos, when Porthos nearly came out of hiding.

They watched as Aramis looked around again before taking a few steps towards the closest stairs, belonging to a blacksmith's shop. He sat down heavily and dropped his head into his hands.

Porthos growled his anger at leaving Aramis abandoned for those few moments, and he pulled his arm away from Athos and headed over.

D'Artagnan likewise appeared at the head of the street, having watched himself.

Aramis heard them coming and jerked his head back up, his eyes wide in the dark.

"It's us, it's us," said Porthos, sitting beside him and taking him by the arms.

Aramis' fast movement made him dizzy, and his head drooped with a groan.

"Forgive me," said Athos. "I'd hoped that leaving you alone here would force your memory to return."

Aramis said nothing, breathing heavily.

"You know that we'd never abandon you, right?" d'Artagnan suddenly said. "You may not remember us, but you _do_ at least have a sense of that by now?"

Aramis lifted his throbbing head, looking at each of their worried faces. Porthos looked especially upset, and Aramis found himself saying, "Yes."

Everyone was relieved.

"Let's get him back to the garrison," Athos said. "We'll try again another day."

"No," Aramis told him. "Let's continue _._ "

"But how's your head?" Porthos asked.

Aramis sighed. "Very angry with me, but I'm here _now._ I can't go back without knowing."

Reluctantly, they helped him up and steadied him through a dizzy spell, before slowly continuing to walk.

"Anything look familiar yet?" Porthos asked a minute later.

Aramis concentrated as hard as he could, but he felt as if he'd never been there before. "Nothing."

The walk took three times longer than usual with Aramis' slow pace, and they eventually arrived back at the garrison.

"I can't believe this," Aramis said, as d'Artagnan brought the horses back to the stable.

The others were likewise disappointed.

"You need more time," said Athos.

Aramis sighed, closing his eyes with a wince when Porthos sat him at the table.

There was a sudden noise above them, and Athos looked up to see Treville come out of his office. He shook his head at the captain before he could ask, hoping that he could see him in the light of the moon.

Treville nodded his understanding.

"No," Aramis suddenly said.

Athos looked at him. "No?" he echoed, having not heard the question that Porthos had asked their injured friend.

"He said that he can't make it to his room," Porthos worriedly told him.

Athos sighed, wondering if he'd ever get used to Aramis telling the truth about his condition.

Porthos reached down and easily lifted Aramis into his arms.

Aramis winced again, making a sound of distress at the pain in his head.

D'Artagnan joined them, and they headed to Aramis' room and put him to bed.

Aramis kept his eyes closed, putting both hands on his pounding head as he lay there. "I should have...listened...to you," he said, miserably.

"That's an admission you've never willingly made," Porthos said, reaching over to squeeze his shoulder.

"Am I much different now?" Aramis asked.

"No," said Athos, not wanting to distress him further. "Not _much_."

Aramis gave no reply, wincing again.

The night passed very slowly, with the injured musketeer suffering terrible pain. Eventually, even the pillow aggravated his head.

"Sit me up," he moaned.

Athos and Porthos obeyed, being as gentle as they could, keeping tight grips on him when Aramis reeled dizzily, putting one hand over his stomach.

"Are you gonna be sick?" Porthos nervously asked.

Aramis didn't answer, so d'Artagnan grabbed the chamber pot just in case.

Aramis thankfully didn't need it after all, but he hunched forward and dropped his head into his hands with a groan.

Porthos sat next to him and put an arm around Aramis' back. "Lean on me," he said.

Aramis promptly did, head still in his hands. He dragged in a shuddering breath and made a sound almost like a whine.

The other three were beside themselves, not used to seeing the magnitude of the pain that Aramis truly suffered when he was injured or wounded.

"I'm gonna kill whoever did this to you," Porthos told Aramis.

"Thank you," Aramis whispered, his answer surprising them even more.

Porthos sat like that with Aramis until the injured musketeer grew too tired to sit up. He kept dozing off and then startling himself awake. After the third time, Porthos carefully laid him back down and they watched as Aramis fell asleep...or passed out.

By then, it was only a couple of hours before dawn. Once he was out, the others looked at each other and sighed.

"I was serious when I said that," Porthos remarked.

The others weren't surprised.

Captain Treville came to see Aramis after roll call, and was distressed when they told him what had happened. He sighed and shook his head. "If it really was this new thief, we still have no information on him."

"Maybe it was a woman," d'Artagnan suddenly said.

Everyone looked at him with surprise.

"It would explain why no one ever sees the thief; because they're looking for a man," d'Artagnan continued. "That would even explain why the person got the drop on Aramis...he wouldn't expect to be attacked by a woman."

Everyone looked at each other, considering his words.

"When he wakes, we'll ask him," said Athos. "If it's true, then perhaps hearing it will force his memory to return."

Treville nodded. "If he remembers, send me a message at the palace. Louis wants me there today."

The others agreed, and resumed their places around Aramis' bed. It was hours before he finally woke near lunchtime.

Porthos noticed before Aramis even had time to groan, and he stood from his chair and sat on the side of the bed.

Aramis slowly opened his eyes, looking at him blearily before closing them again.

"Not even a 'good morning'?" Porthos joked.

One side of Aramis' mouth lifted in a slight grin.

The others sat on the other side of the bed, and waited for Aramis to reopen his eyes.

"How's the pain?" Athos asked.

Aramis sighed, looking very pale. "Not as bad."

D'Artagnan sighed with relief.

"Good," said Porthos. "You're stayin' in that bed today if I have to tie you to it."

Aramis chuckled at that before he suddenly frowned.

"What is it?" Athos asked.

"Have I been tied up before?"

"Many times," said Porthos, deciding not to make a joke out of the innocent question. "We live dangerous lives."

"Are you remembering something specific?" Athos asked.

Aramis thought for a moment. "I'm not sure...it's vague." He thought for a moment. "There was snow? Someone was yelling."

Athos and Porthos thought about it too.

D'Artagnan shook his head. "It must've been before I came to Paris."

Porthos suddenly made a sound and pointed at Athos. "The man who wanted revenge on the captain and kidnapped Aramis, remember?"

Athos nodded. "You were struck on the head and abducted," he told Aramis. "They beat you before tying you up and throwing you into a cellar. They eventually brought you out and left you sitting in the snow until we arrived and Treville offered himself in trade."

Aramis said nothing as he listened.

"Sound familiar?" d'Artagnan asked, unnerved by the blank stare on his face.

Aramis blinked. "No?" His hesitation was obvious. "It doesn't sound completely _un_ familiar, but I don't recall experiencing that. There's just something in my mind about ropes and snow."

"At least you remembered somethin'!" Porthos said. "I knew it, Aramis! You're gettin' your memory back!"

Aramis smiled.

TBC


	8. I Need to Know

For lunch, Serge made more soup and mashed up some potatoes for Aramis, knowing that it would be easy on his stomach. Aramis ate it with no trouble and enjoyed the potatoes immensely.

"Typical you," Porthos said. "You always were one for warm, cozy foods."

Aramis looked at him. "Am I?" He looked down at his soup and mashed potatoes. "They're comforting, if that makes any sense."

Everyone nodded.

"Especially for someone who gets hit on the head so much," said d'Artagnan.

Aramis looked at him. "Do I really? Can you tell me about myself?"

Everyone looked at each other, wondering what exactly to tell.

"Women love you," said d'Artagnan. "Young, old, human, cat; it doesn't matter. You could charm a snake."

Aramis looked doubtful.

"It's true," said Porthos, with a grin.

"Do I know a woman with red hair?" Aramis suddenly asked.

Everyone fell silent.

"You _did_ ," Athos confirmed. "Her name was Adele, and you were very close."

Aramis frowned. "Adele," he echoed. " _Were?_ "

"She, uh, left Paris," Porthos told him.

"Why? Did I hurt her in some way?"

The other three looked at each other, realizing that Aramis might never recover his memory if they continued to hide things from him.

"She is the cardinal's mistress," said Athos.

Aramis blinked, looking shocked. "A man of God hiding a mistress? For shame!"

It was obviously, that he hadn't understood the significance of 'the' cardinal.

"Does the name Richelieu sound familiar?" Porthos asked.

"No."

"If only we could all say the same!" said d'Artagnan.

For the rest of the day, they told Aramis everything they could think of about his life. The good, the bad, the pain, and the joy.

Aramis remembered nothing.

"Now that you have things to think about, maybe you'll remember somethin' yourself," Porthos told him.

Aramis was feeling a heap of emotions from what he'd been told: humor, amazement, sadness, happiness, and shock all at the same time.

The others wondered if they'd told him too much at once. "Are you all right?" Athos asked.

Aramis exhaled a heavy breath. "I'm not sure," he admitted. "It's all so hard to believe." Suddenly, he reached for the neck of his shirt and pulled it away to look inside.

"What are you doin'?" Porthos asked.

"Looking for the scars," Aramis answered. He easily spotted many of them and let go of his shirt, feeling overwhelmed.

For the rest of the night, Aramis was mostly quiet, thinking on what his friends had told him. The tales influenced his dreams, and soon, he found himself sitting against a tree with a throbbing headache, a fierce pain in his side, and a man standing twenty feet away, tossing a pauldron down before turning and walking away.

"Marsac!" he called. "Where are you going? Wait!"

"Aramis! Calm down!"

The second voice was unexpected, but Aramis ignored it. "Marsac! Marsac!"

"Aramis!"

Porthos was suddenly looking down at him, and Aramis realized that he was in a bed. "Marsac!" he exclaimed.

"You are not in Savoy," said Athos' voice.

Aramis shifted his gaze to find Athos pressing his right shoulder down to the bed. He realized that Porthos was doing the same on the left, and a sudden urge to get away from these strangers filled him. He tried to jump up out of the bed, but they held him down more firmly.

"Aramis!" said Porthos. _"Calm down!"_

Gasping, Aramis tried again to get away, before comprehension returned and he realized that he knew them. Going limp, he closed his eyes, trying to catch his breath.

Athos and Porthos loosened their grips but didn't let go.

"I can't do this," Aramis suddenly said, dragging up a hand to lay over his eyes. "I need to know. I _need_ to know!"

"We've told you everythin'," Porthos said.

 _Not quite,_ Athos thought, as Queen Anne's face entered his mind.

"Here, Aramis," d'Artagnan said, holding a cup of water.

Aramis let him help him drink it, before opening his eyes with a sigh. "I have to get out of this bed," he said.

Porthos smiled despite himself. "Now _that_ sounds more like you."

"How is the pain?" Athos asked.

"Better today," Aramis answered, to their relief. "I've laid here long enough; I need to start rebuilding my life."

His words sounded like he'd given up.

"Rebuild?" said d'Artagnan.

Aramis looked at him. "We don't know when my memory will return, and I can't remain in this confusion. If I'm good at shooting, I want to shoot. If I like to ride, then I want to ride. If I like cats, then I want to go pet one."

The others smiled at that.

"There's a beautiful cat probably in the barn right now just waitin' for you, Aramis," Porthos said.

Aramis started to sit up. "I want to see her." He suddenly blinked and his eyes opened wider. "A calico."

The others were shocked to hear him say that.

"Yes!" said d'Artagnan. "Gisèle is a calico."

Porthos elbowed him. "Should've let him try to remember her name!"

D'Artagnan winced.

Aramis hastened to get out of bed and they helped him get dressed before Porthos steered him to his mirror, remembering Aramis saying that he hadn't looked in one since his injury. "Look; that's you," he said.

Aramis stared at his reflection before leaning closer, prompting the other two to grab his arms lest he lose his balance with his still-concussed brain. He carefully turned his head to the left and then the right, before feeling his beard. "You're right; I _am_ handsome."

Porthos laughed.

Aramis reached up and twisted the ends of his mustache in a familiar gesture, before taking his hat, raking a hand through his hair, and putting it on. He suddenly noticed the smiles on his friends' faces reflected in the mirror, and asked, "What?"

"It's nice to see glimpses of the Aramis that we're used to," said d'Artagnan.

He words gave Aramis hope, and he smiled back.

Minutes later, they were outside heading for the barn.

Aramis got a better look around that time, since his head wasn't hurting as badly. Once they walked into the barn, his horse neighed and Aramis reached out to pet her. "Hello, beautiful," he said.

Everyone quietly watched, hoping that Aramis would realize that he was, essentially, calling her by the translation of her actual name.

Aramis didn't make the connection and looked around for Gisèle, giving a gasp of surprise when found a pretty calico cat rubbing against his boot. "Gisèle, I presume!"

The cat was purring loud enough to be heard by the whole garrison.

Aramis started to lower himself to sit in the hay, and Porthos grabbed his arm to assist him lest he lose his balance.

Gisèle walked onto Aramis' crossed legs and tried to rub her face on his own.

Aramis chuckled and leaned forward to let her, before pulling back a little so he could watch her as he scratched the sides of her face.

Gisèle closed her eyes and purred louder, if possible.

"She really _does_ love me!" Aramis exclaimed.

The others couldn't hold back their smiles.

"You're her favorite," said Porthos. "Ever since...well, let's see if you remember."

Aramis looked up at him. "Something happened?"

They all nodded.

"Nothing bad, I hope?"

They all shook their heads.

"No," said Porthos. "Just something to cement her love for you, and make her your favorite of the garrison cats!"

"Did I name her?" Aramis asked, smiling when Gisèle plopped down on his lap.

"Yes," said Athos. "You name _all_ of the cats."

Aramis chuckled.

Athos looked at the others, giving them a silent message.

"Perhaps we should leave you two lovers alone," d'Artagnan joked.

Aramis didn't even bat an eye as he continued to pet Gisèle. "Go ahead, you know where I am."

The other three nodded and filed out of the barn.

"You think it'll work?" Porthos whispered to Athos.

"It may," Athos replied.

"He loves that cat," said d'Artagnan. "This is the perfect chance to see if he remembers her. And if he does, he might remember _more_."

"Exactly," said Athos.

With that, they sat at the table and watched the barn.

Aramis leaned back against Bella's stall before uncurling his legs and stretching them out in front of himself. Gisèle continued to contentedly purr on his lap and Aramis closed his eyes, inhaling the scent of the hay and realizing how familiar it was.

A grunt came from above him and Bella's nose suddenly appeared beside his head.

Aramis reached up to pet her, and her name suddenly flashed in his head so fast that it was gone before he had a chance to realize. He tried to remember what it was, but it eluded him. Closing his eyes, he sighed.

Gisèle suddenly moved her head and Aramis realized that he'd stopped petting her. He rubbed a finger under her chin and she purred louder, with an overlapping sound as if she was purring in two octaves. The sound was humorous and Aramis chuckled.

The atmosphere was very soothing, and soon, Aramis found himself dozing off.

Porthos snuck over to the barn and peeked inside, his eyebrows going up at what he saw. He quietly snuck back, shaking his head as he neared the others. "He's sleepin'."

"Sleeping?" d'Artagnan echoed.

Porthos nodded. "Just sittin' there against Bella's stall sleepin', with Gisèle still on 'im."

"He needs the rest," said Athos.

"I know," said Porthos. "But I'd hoped that Gisèle or Bella would spark some memory in 'im."

The others nodded, likewise disappointed.

"We need to give it time," said Athos. "No matter how frustrating this is for us, it's much worse for Aramis."

D'Artagnan shook his head. "I can't even _imagine_ going through that; I'd lose my mind."

"No you wouldn't," said Porthos. "You can't lose what you never had!"

D'Artagnan laughed.

Suddenly, an unexpected voice filled the air. "Porthos!"

The three men looked towards the barn before rushing towards it. Inside, they found Aramis on his knees frantically looking for something.

"Where is it?!" Aramis exclaimed.

"Where's what?!" Porthos answered, dropping to his knees.

"It was drowning!" Aramis exclaimed. "I was just holding it, trying to save it! Where did it go? It's going to die!"

Athos and Porthos instantly realized that Gisèle presence _had_ sparked a memory in Aramis.

"You _did_ save it," said Athos, grabbing Aramis by the arm. "He lives. You fell asleep and were dreaming."

Aramis continued to look around the barn.

"Aramis," said Porthos, grabbing him by both arms and forcing him to turn towards them. "Look at me!"

Aramis did, having no choice.

"You succeeded in saving the kitten," Porthos told him. "He's fine and has grown into a real pain in the neck, as Athos calls him."

Athos looked indignant.

"What?" Aramis said, breathing heavily.

"He wasn't literally drownin'," said Porthos. "When he was born, Gisèle was takin' her time cleanin' the others so you broke the sac around him and rubbed him to get him breathin'. He was fine, thanks to you."

Aramis was still breathing fast, and gave the barn another glance as if to verify that there was no newborn kitten nearby.

Gisèle was standing there bathing herself, and Aramis stared. "She was smaller."

"That's right," Porthos told him. "She was very young and you played midwife for her that day. She's adored you ever since."

Aramis smiled slightly before relaxing, slumping back onto his rear end. "I remember that." His eyes opened wider. "I remember!"

Everyone smiled.

TBC


	9. Tired of Waiting

Aramis was in better spirits for the next couple of days. Remembering something appeared to even help with his physical recovery, as he now had hope that he would fully regain his memory.

After breakfast on the fourth day after Aramis had remembered Gisele and her kittens, he asked if they could take him shooting.

"Are you sure that your head can handle it?" Athos asked him.

"I believe so," Aramis told him, pushing his empty plate forward on the table. "The pain is minor."

"The sound might make it worse," d'Artagnan pointed out.

Aramis reluctantly nodded. "It may, but I want to try. I'm tired of waiting."

"Have you recovered all your strength?" Porthos asked.

Aramis thought about it for a minute. He still grew tired easily, but he didn't feel overly weak. "Most of it, at least."

Everyone stared at him.

"What?" Aramis asked.

"It's just hard to get used to," said Porthos. "Your honesty about the way you feel."

Aramis looked down at the table. "You all keep remarking about that," he said. "I must be well-known for being a liar."

No one expected that, and they all shook their heads.

"No, Aramis," said d'Artagnan. "It's just that you don't want us to worry, so you always tell us that you're fine, even when you aren't."

"Much of it stems from Savoy," said Athos, watching for a reaction to the word. "You were so badly wounded that you needed care for months, and it frustrated you."

Aramis didn't react beyond nodding. "I wish to regain my memory, but I have a feeling that Savoy is something better left forgotten."

Everyone agreed, but no one said so, not wanting him to dwell on it.

Aramis suddenly stood. "Time to shoot!"

D'Artagnan led the way to the armory, after they realized that Aramis would need to choose new weapons. They watched him as he looked at the pistols, picking up and considering each one.

"None of these catch my fancy," he said.

Porthos smiled despite himself. "That's why you bought the ones that were lost when you were attacked."

Aramis looked at him.

"Beautiful craftsmanship," d'Artagnan told him. "Elegant patterns along the sides; the pistols of a collector rather than a soldier."

"And they're gone?" Aramis asked.

"Unfortunately," said Athos. "But when we find whoever did this to you, there's a chance that we can recover them."

Aramis gave the pistols a forlorn look. "I hope so. They may help me remember."

After studying each pistol again, he finally chose two of them and selected a sword before they headed for the targets.

Aramis looked at them before trying to decide how far away to stand.

The others were quiet, hoping that he'd remember on his own.

Eventually, Aramis picked a spot much closer than he would've ordinarily, and he drew one of the pistols and pointed it at the target.

A *snap* reached their ears, and Aramis pulled the gun back and looked at it. "I think I should be very embarrassed right now," he said.

The others were speechless. Aramis hadn't loaded the pistol!

D'Artagnan, having only known Aramis for eight months, recovered from his shock first and walked over. "No reason," he said, trying to ease his mind. "We've all forgotten at times." He showed Aramis how to do it, and watched as Aramis copied his actions with the other pistol. Once Aramis was ready, d'Artagnan patted his shoulder and walked back to stand with the others.

Athos and Porthos both looked at him, and he could read the gratitude in their expressions.

Aramis tried again, pointing one of the pistols. He fired and smiled when he saw the bullet hit the bullseye.

The others were surprised, considering. Aramis may have forgotten the _details_ on how to do things, but it appeared that he still had his God-given instinct.

Porthos broke into a relieved grin and clapped, walking over. "Looks like you've still got it!" Once he reached him, he realized that Aramis wasn't as far from the target as usual, and he desperately hoped that he would still be able to shoot that well if he moved back.

The happy expression on Aramis' face was a joy to see, and they all smiled back at him.

Aramis practiced his shooting for the rest of the day. By afternoon, he'd regained his prowess at loading the pistols and continued to hit the bullseye even further away, but as predicted, it increased his headache.

"You've _more_ than excelled," said Athos. "Your skill remains intact. Won't you take some rest?"

Aramis was leaning against the post that the target was on, rubbing his forehead. "Swords tomorrow?"

The other three looked at each other.

"How do you feel besides your head?" Porthos asked. "Swordfightin' takes a lot of strength and energy."

"And speed," d'Artagnan mentioned.

Aramis hesitated. "I guess we'll see tomorrow, then."

His answer proved that he didn't feel well, and they all still marveled to be getting truthful answers about his health.

"Come," said Athos, putting a hand on Aramis' arm. "Rest."

Aramis submitted and let Athos take him to his room. They ate supper surrounding his bed and Aramis went right to sleep afterwards, his head aching worse from the activity of the day. When he woke the next morning, he didn't feel strong enough for swordplay, but asked to watch the others.

Athos and d'Artagnan put on a show for him, and Aramis watched with wide eyes. "I can do that?" he asked Porthos.

Porthos nodded. "Just as good, too. You should see yourself; your fightin' is like a dance."

Aramis frowned and looked at him. "What do you mean?"

Porthos shrugged. "You dance when you fight. It's hard to explain…it's like you're fluid, the way you move. Finesse, you call it."

Aramis looked at the others. "I wouldn't have guessed." He looked at Porthos. "But I'm guessing that _you_ are very strong."

Porthos smiled, considering it something that Aramis had remembered. "That's right."

Aramis smiled. "You look it."

"I'll show you," said Porthos. He stood and headed towards the others. "My turn! Who wants to get beat?"

Athos held up a hand in refusal and shook his head.

"Looks like it's you then, d'Artagnan!" Porthos said, cracking his knuckles.

Aramis smiled at d'Artagnan's look of mock-horror, and he watched as they sparred.

Athos sat beside Aramis, watching _him_ rather than the other two. From the expression on Aramis' face, it seemed as if he'd never seen such evidence of Porthos' amazing strength.

Eventually, d'Artagnan had enough, and came back to the table, falling onto the bench. "That man could catch a boulder!" he exclaimed to Aramis.

Porthos laughed as he headed over.

Aramis hardly heard him...all he could hear in his mind was one word, repeated over and over again.

 _Boulder._

 _Boulder._

 _Boulder._

"Aramis?"

Athos held out a hand to shush Porthos, and they all watched Aramis as he sat staring into space, looking at nothing. His eyes were open wide and he seemed to hardly be breathing. They desperately hoped that he was remembering something, and no one moved a single muscle, not wanting to break him out of it.

After a minute or two, Aramis suddenly blinked with a gasp, before raising a hand to his head and closing his eyes.

Finally released from standing still, Porthos knelt and grabbed Aramis' other wrist. "Aramis, what did you see?"

Athos and d'Artagnan, sitting on either side of Aramis, refrained from touching him so as not to overwhelm him.

Aramis was visibly shaking. "Where am I?" he asked, his voice unsteady.

"In the musketeer garrison," said Porthos.

"Where did you think you were, Aramis?" Athos asked.

"I was...I was holding a boulder," Aramis told them, wincing as he rubbed his head. He opened his eyes but didn't look at anyone. "Rather, you were on the ground, and I was holding it back, preventing it from falling on you." He suddenly winced again and lowered his arm, hunching over slightly.

D'Artagnan was alarmed and grabbed his arm. "What's wrong!"

"Holding back the boulder strained all of the muscles in his upper body," Athos explained. "He's remembering the pain."

Everyone was holding onto Aramis by then, waiting for him to recover from the vivid flashback. Eventually, he straightened up a little, taking a deep breath and raising a hand to his head again.

"Are you all right?" Athos asked.

"I'm not sure," Aramis told him, still shaky. "I felt as if I'm _there_ , not _here_. It seemed so real."

"That's because it _was_ real," said Porthos. "Just take it easy."

Aramis was silent for a minute, before asking, "How long ago was it?"

"A year," said Athos.

Aramis looked at him. "It felt like it just happened, but it's fading now."

"You mean you're forgetting it?" d'Artagnan asked.

"No," Aramis answered. "It's just...not seeming as if it happened today." He frowned. "I don't remember everything, I think...how we ended up in that situation or how we got _out_ of it."

Porthos sighed. "It was my fault. I wanted to cut across the mountains on our way back to Paris one day to shorten the trip, but the ground was unstable. We got caught in a rockslide and you saved Athos' life in a desperate feat of strength that amazed us all."

Aramis looked at Athos.

"You stopped the boulder from crushing me," Athos said. "My leg was pinned to the ground and you held it back until Porthos reached us."

"I tried to take over but you wouldn't budge," Porthos said. "You were afraid that it could fall on _me_ if I tried!"

Aramis looked at Porthos with surprise.

"So I freed Athos and had him pull you away from the boulder," said Porthos. "It crashed to the ground and none of us were hurt by it. Well, except that _you_ were hardly able to move for over a week afterwards."

Aramis shook his head slightly, amazed, before looking at Athos. "It was worth the pain."

Athos, stoic Athos, gave Aramis a genuine smile at that.

As Aramis fell asleep that night, he desperately hoped that more of his memories would come to him in dreams, but when he woke the next morning, he couldn't recall anything else.

After breakfast, he decided to remove the bandage around his head.

"Are you sure it shouldn't stay on longer?" d'Artagnan asked.

"I'm tired of feeling it there," said Aramis, reaching up to untie it. "And the stitches itch."

"No scratchin'," said Porthos, reaching over to help.

A moment later, it was gone, and the others assessed their friend. The stitches were visible if you knew where to look, and the bruising had lightened somewhat, with green and gold mixing in with the purple and blue.

"Do I pass inspection?" Aramis asked, with a slight grin.

"Not really," said Porthos, upset to see the marks of violence on his friend.

"How's the pain?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Much improved," Aramis told him, before looking at Athos. "I'd like to try my hand at swordplay today."

Athos frowned, not thinking Aramis sufficiently recovered. "You are still pale."

Aramis nodded. "I'm sure, but I'm eager to remember more, and perhaps the activity may bring something else to mind."

Athos nodded and stood, walking out into the open.

Aramis followed and drew his sword, before looking at it and deliberately trying to stand into what he believed to be the right stance.

Athos drew his own sword, noticing that Aramis didn't quite stand the way that he usually did. "Allez!" he said.

But Aramis just stood there. "What...do I do?"

Porthos and d'Artagnan looked at each other, crestfallen.

It turned out that Aramis didn't remember fencing terminology, and Athos had to explain many of the moves. The descriptions helped much, and he was eventually able to obey the commands as Athos gave them.

"Lunge! Parry! Reposte!"

Aramis did the moves perfectly, before suddenly backing up and lowering his sword.

Athos stopped. "Are you all right?"

Aramis nodded, trying to catch his breath.

"We can spar again tomorrow," Athos said, walking over to him in case he needed help.

Aramis said nothing, wanting to continue but trying to fight his fatigue and headache. A wave of dizziness suddenly swept over him, changing his mind.

Porthos hurried over and took Aramis' arm, guiding him back to the table.

"That was wonderful," Aramis said as he sat.

The others were surprised to hear that.

"Yeah?" said Porthos.

Aramis nodded. "It felt so familiar, and came back to me more and more."

Everyone smiled at that, and without thinking, Porthos slung his arm around Aramis' neck like he always did so often. "See? You'll be back to yourself in no time!"

Aramis found himself chuckling and leaning against him in response. It was automatic and completely without thought.

D'Artagnan noticed and looked at Athos, who also saw the significance and nodded in agreement. Aramis didn't realize it, but he was becoming more and more like his old self with each passing day.

TBC


	10. Unexpected Setback

That night, Aramis slept well and had many dreams. He saw his mother again, Treville, and his three friends. They were mostly nice dreams of good times, but in one of them, he was lying in bed with his friends surrounding him with terrified expressions.

"I had many dreams," he told the others during breakfast.

Everyone paused with their fork to their mouths.

Aramis laughed at the sight. "If everything I dreamed was a memory, then I live a very happy life. Well, _almost_ everything."

"There was something bad?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis took a bite and chewed before answering. "I was lying in bed with everyone surrounding me. Actually, no, you weren't there, d'Artagnan, but Captain Treville was."

"So Athos, me, and the captain?" said Porthos.

Aramis nodded.

"Were you injured or wounded?"

Aramis thought for a moment. "I didn't seem to be, but the three of you were very worried, especially you, Porthos. You were squeezing my hand and saying that you were back."

Porthos and Athos shared a glance.

"What happened to him?" d'Artagnan asked.

"A nearly-fatal fever," said Athos. "Porthos had been sent on a mission alone one morning, and you started acting strangely, Aramis,"* he said. "The captain mentioned that you looked pale and you said that you hadn't slept well and had a resulting headache. When you barely ate breakfast and lunch, you told me that that you were simply out of sorts. I assumed that you were simply worried for Porthos..." He stopped and sighed.

Aramis and d'Artagnan stared, listening intently.

"It wasn't until mid-afternoon that I realized you were ill," said Athos, obviously feeling guilty. "By then, your fever was already high. I feared that you would not survive long enough to see Porthos again."

At that, Porthos closed his eyes.

"The doctor suggested leeches—" said Athos.

Aramis cut him off. "He didn't use them, did he?"

"No," Porthos said. "We didn't let him."

Aramis sighed with relief, before frowning at his own reaction. "Do I have a personal vendetta against leeches?"

Everyone smiled.

"You think that part of doctorin' is insane, unnecessary, and can cause further harm," Porthos said.

"Looks like you just remembered something else!" said d'Artagnan.

Aramis smiled.

"Porthos returned," Athos said, continuing the story. "And we put you into a tub of water to bring your fever down. It worked and you eventually recovered."

Aramis sighed. "That's a relief."

D'Artagnan chuckled.

A horse neighed and everyone looked up to see Treville ride through the gate. He immediately headed straight for them and dismounted. "There's been another robbery."

"Where?" Athos asked.

"Two streets away from the last one," said Treville. "And this time, the robber was seen."

Porthos stood. "What did he look like?"

"Tall, dark cloak. It appeared to be a man, from the height."

Athos looked at Aramis. "Does that description sound familiar?"

Aramis thought for a moment. "No." He sounded disappointed.

"Let's go investigate," said d'Artagnan. "He could still be the man who attacked you."

Treville watched as everyone stood. "Do you feel up to it, Aramis?"

Aramis hesitated. "I'm much better."

Everyone glanced at each other. At least he wasn't saying that he was 'fine'.

Treville felt a strong need to protect his injured musketeer...more than usual, considering his vulnerability.

"You don't want me to go with them?" Aramis asked, not sure what he was thinking.

"I want you to be _safe_ ," Treville said. "Your head injury was serious, to have caused this kind of damage. You've had more than your fair share of concussions, and I'd hate for you to come to more harm, especially while not recovered."

The 'old' Aramis would make a face and pronounce himself perfectly fine, but _this_ Aramis nodded slightly. "I understand."

The others glanced at each other. They shared the sentiment, but they wanted Aramis to get his memory back _yesterday_.

Treville saw their looks. "There's no way to guarantee his safety. If you should come upon the thief and Aramis is attacked again, another head injury could prove fatal so soon. Look at him."

Everyone did, making Aramis squirm slightly. The terrible bruising hadn't faded at all; if anything, it looked worse, after having changed colors.

"What if I promise to be careful?" Aramis suddenly said.

Porthos' face changed from concern to delight, and he laughed. "Now _that_ sounds like Aramis!"

Treville sighed and dropped his head, shaking it. "That's a promise that you've _never_ been able to keep!" He raised his head in time to see d'Artagnan's puppy-dog eyes. "Fine! Can I trust _this_ Aramis to actually be careful?"

Aramis smiled slightly. "I promise."

Porthos chuckled again. "Unless his memory happens to come back a minute before he would've _been_ careful!"

Treville sent him a sharp look.

"Probably shouldn't say that," d'Artagnan whispered.

"Go, then," Treville told Aramis. "But please, go easy on yourself. We can all see the headache that you still have."

The old Aramis would've scoffed at showing pain, but the new Aramis nodded slightly.

Five minutes later, they were mounted and leaving the garrison.

"Doin' okay?" Porthos asked a few minutes later.

"Considering," said Aramis. He kept feeling like he was tipping sideways; it was obvious that his brain wasn't yet able to handle the height and swaying from the horse.

An answer like that was proof that something wasn't right, so Athos asked, "What's wrong?"

Aramis pressed a hand to the side of his head as if to keep it straight. "I'm..." He cut himself off with a frown.

Everyone stopped their horses and Porthos grabbed his arm. "Hey!" he said, with alarm.

"Inestable?" Aramis said.

"What?" said d'Artagnan.

"Torcido?" Aramis tried.

"Spanish," said Athos.

Aramis blinked and looked at them. "I can't think of the French palabra...I mean, French word." He suddenly looked very pale.

"K, back to the garrison," Porthos said, tightening his grip.

"No!" Aramis said. "Puedo seguir."

"What?"

Aramis blinked. "I can go on. I want to find this ladron...thief." He looked at Athos. "Por favor?" He didn't correct himself that time, apparently not realizing that he'd spoken the wrong language.

Everyone knew it was the Spanish word for 'please', and they looked at Athos.

Athos sighed. "Stay close to him," he told Porthos.

Porthos nodded, not letting go of Aramis' arm. "Always."

They rode on more slowly, watching Aramis quietly, alert for any indication that he was growing worse.

"Are you all right?" Athos eventually asked.

"Si," Aramis answered. He didn't correct himself.

The other three wondered what it meant, that Aramis was suddenly losing his grasp on the French language. Would it be temporary, or was it a sign of lasting damage?

They arrived ten minutes later, and Porthos helped Aramis get down.

With a wince, Aramis leaned against his horse, feeling Porthos grip his arm tighter. It was a minute before he could reopen his eyes, and he gave Porthos a pale smile. "Gracias," he said. His eyes suddenly opened wider, and he looked at his friend. "Did I just do it again?"

"Yes," Porthos told him.

"Apologies," Aramis told him. "Do any of you speak Spanish?"

"Only words and phrases here and there," d'Artagnan answered, as they all watched their injured friend. "Courtesy of you."

Once he was ready, they headed over to the door and knocked.

A woman answered it, looking nervous. She let them in when Athos explained why they were there, and they looked around.

"It happened in the night," she told them, as a child hid behind her leg. "I heard a sound and came out, and he was standing right there."

"Tengo una pregunta," Aramis suddenly said.

Everyone looked at him.

"God help me," Aramis whispered to himself. "I meant to say, I have a question. Did he drop any of his own possessions or accidentally leave something behind?"

She shook her head. "Nothing that I happened to find."

That was disappointing to the musketeers, but not surprising. They followed her through the small house as she pointed out what was missing, but there was a distinct lack of clues.

When they finally made their way back to the main room, a dizzy spell suddenly assaulted Aramis, and he threw a hand out to grab something.

Porthos had remained glued to Aramis' side, and caught him when he faltered. He pulled Aramis over to the table and carefully sat him in a chair.

The woman was startled, especially when she only then spotted the awful bruising on the left side of Aramis' face. "What happened?!" she exclaimed.

Athos reached for Aramis' face, lifting it up to see that their friend was conscious, but blinking rapidly. "A glass of water, please?" he requested.

The woman hastened to comply, bringing it back quickly.

Porthos took the cup and helped Aramis drink it. They all watched as he came to his senses.

Aramis was embarrassed to see them all staring at him. "Lo siento," he said.

The musketeers knew what that meant, but the woman didn't.

"That was an apology," d'Artagnan told her. "He was attacked last week, possibly by this serial thief. If there's _anything_ else you can think of that might help us catch him, please let us know."

She nodded. "I will."

They helped Aramis up and got him outside, mounting him on his horse and riding close beside him.

Porthos kept a hand around one of Aramis' arms. "You all right?" he asked.

"Si. Yes." Aramis looked at him. "I speak Spanish without thought."

"We noticed," said Porthos.

Aramis' horse neighed, and Aramis petted her. "Forgive me, Bella, I'll be back to myself soon, I promise."

It took a few seconds for the others to realize what had just happened.

"Aramis!" said d'Artagnan. "You remembered her name!"

Aramis looked startled, before he smiled. "Bella," he said. "I named her Bella." He suddenly made a surprised face.

Porthos stopped riding, which forced Bella to stop walking too, and they all quietly watched Aramis as he obviously remembered something.

It was a full minute before Aramis blinked and came back to himself.

"What did you remember?" Porthos asked.

Aramis blinked again and swayed a little to the right, prompting Porthos to tighten the grip on his left arm and pull him closer to him.

"Whoa, hey," said Porthos.

Aramis held up his other hand as if to tell them that he was all right, before he took a deep breath and looked at them. "I remember when the garrison got new horses after Savoy. Bella chose _me_."

Porthos grinned ear-to-ear. "That she did, Aramis!"

D'Artagnan's eyebrows shot up. "Story time?"

Aramis smiled and told them of how the troupe of horses had been brought in and Bella had walked right over to Aramis and refused to leave his side. She would only let him touch her, and she was his from that instant.

As they rode through the garrison gate, they spotted Treville sitting at the outside table.

The captain watched as they rode towards him, and he instantly noticed Porthos holding onto Aramis' left arm. He stood and walked over to them. "Is he all right?"

"Dizzy spells," d'Artagnan informed him.

Treville reached up a hand to help Aramis get down, and was a little surprised when his knees didn't lock. He quickly grabbed Aramis under the arms and leaned him against his horse to keep him upright.

"Lo siento," Aramis said, again, closing his eyes.

The others had forgotten about Aramis speaking Spanish instead of French, since he hadn't done it at all while telling d'Artagnan about Bella.

Treville looked at Athos.

"He's suddenly finding French words to be difficult," Athos explained.

Treville was stunned. "Are you saying that he forgot the language?!"

"Nonono," Porthos interrupted. "It's more like an unexpected lapse, or unable to think of a certain word."

Aramis reopened his eyes and looked at them. "I can speak French."

Treville nodded. "I'm relieved to hear it." He wrapped an arm around Aramis' back and helped him over to the bench, sitting him down and pouring him a cup of water from the pitcher on the table.

As Aramis drank it, the others told Treville what they found—or rather, didn't find—at the woman's house. They then told him that Aramis had remembered Bella, and he was overjoyed.

"That's an excellent sign, Aramis!" Treville said, smiling.

Aramis smiled back. "Yes. Now I don't feel as..." He paused, as if searching for the word. "Empty."

Treville patted his shoulder. "Can I ask you a question?"

"Of course."

"It suddenly occurred to me earlier that after you were attacked, you managed to get yourself back home to the garrison."

Everyone looked at Aramis.

"Do you remember anything about how you got here?" Treville asked.

Aramis blinked, thinking.

"Tracing your steps in the dark made sense to us because it was night when you were attacked," Treville continued. "But you didn't recognize anything perhaps because you can't _remember_ where anything is. But if you see, say, a blacksmith's shop in the daylight, it might trigger your memory that you were attacked there, or something."

Aramis looked at him again. "That makes sense." He sighed. "And no, I don't remember how I got here. I recall the fact that I was walking, but that's all."

"You passed out after entering the gate and I found you early the next morning," Treville told him. "Do you remember that?"

"Slightly."

"You'd likely been out here for hours...you were ice cold and shivering," Treville said. "The damage to your brain from the blow must've worsened overnight, but you'd still had enough of your memory to make it home."

Porthos sighed with relief at that.

"So I should retrace my steps _now,_ in the daylight," Aramis said, standing to his feet.

Athos shot out his hand to grab him when Aramis faltered. "Now seems to be too soon, considering."

Aramis dizzily leaned one arm against the table and closed his eyes. "Esto es tan frustrante!"

Everyone shot glances at each other. Aramis didn't correct himself, but 'frustrante' made it obvious what he'd said.

"You have to go slowly," said Treville. "Your injury is serious."

Aramis reopened his eyes, looking paler as he sank back down to the bench. "Estoy tan harta de esto."

Treville hesitated. "Can you speak French?"

Aramis looked at him. "Of course."

Everyone waited, but he didn't seem to realize that he'd spoken Spanish again.

"We know that you're frustrated," d'Artagnan said.

"And sick of this," said Aramis, not realizing that he was translating his second statement.

"We're going to help you every step of the way," d'Artagnan continued. "But you need to take care of yourself or you'll make your recovery harder."

Aramis knew that he was right, and sighed, raising a slightly-shaking hand to rub his aching head. "You're right," he said, his voice cracking with fatigue. "I'm sorry to be such a burden."

Everyone frowned at that.

"A what?!" said Porthos. "You're not a burden! Why would you think that?" He realized the answer right as he said it.

"Because he cannot remember us," said Athos.

Aramis looked at them under his hand. "I'm starting to," he said. "Rather, I know that I've known you all for years...I feel the familiarity and camaraderie. Sometimes I'll feel that I've experienced certain things before, or recognize a phrase, or something about one of you." He looked at Porthos. "Of all the musketeers here, I know that I've been closest to you the longest."

Porthos' smile could've lit up the darkest night. "That's right!"

"You're the brother that I never had," Aramis told him. "As are you," he told Athos. He looked at Treville next. "I feel that you've not only been my captain and friend, but also a father figure. I have the feeling that you've scolded me and offered advice in _equal_ parts."

Treville had to smile at that. "Sometimes the scolding seemed to _outweigh_ the advice!"

Everyone chuckled.

"D'Artagnan," Aramis said, finally lowering his hand. "You've become a brother quickly, and for some reason, I think I see something of myself in you..." He shrugged. "If I only I could remember what!"

"That's easy!" said Porthos. "He can be really annoyin' sometimes!"

D'Artagnan looked at him in mock shock.

Everyone laughed.

"Oh, my friend," said Aramis, placing a hand on his chest. "You wound me!"

The others smiled at the familiar mannerism. The old Aramis was still in there somewhere!

TBC

*'Things Aren't What They Seem', story ID 11946024


	11. More Memories

After lunch, they convinced Aramis to go back to bed, and they stayed with him in his room. It was obvious that he was feeling worse after their investigation at the woman's home, as he'd grown much paler. They made him stay in bed the following day, and he slept on an off the entire day and night, which was a relief to his friends.

The day after that, Aramis woke feeling better.

"I'd like to go back to the tavern and retrace my steps in the daylight," he told the others.

The others agreed, and after breakfast—which they were glad to see that Aramis ate more of—they mounted their horses and headed out.

"Still dizzy?" Porthos asked as they rode.

"Yes," Aramis admitted. "But it's more bearable."

The others weren't as surprised anymore to get the truth out of Aramis, but they were all still concerned.

"I wonder if you should get looked at by the doctor again," said d'Artagnan.

"I think it's normal," said Aramis. "Considering the severity of the injury."

No one could argue that.

Eventually, they arrived at the tavern, and headed inside. Nothing about it seemed familiar, and Suzette thankfully wasn't there, to 'assault' Aramis again.

They left and did the same thing as the first time, having Aramis and d'Artagnan walk alone ahead of Athos and Porthos.

Aramis studied everything, though he was making himself dizzier by looking at every single thing within sight.

D'Artagnan had a hand on Aramis' arm, to keep him steady. "Hey, slow down, we have all day."

Aramis repeatedly blinked, putting a hand over his eyes for an instant. "There's just so much to..." he stopped and lowered his hand, obviously searching for the word.

D'Artagnan stopped walking. "Aramis?"

Aramis sighed. "I'm trying not to accidentally speak Spanish."

D'Artagnan nodded. "I understand what you were trying to say. You're desperate to remember, and you're trying to spot any possible thing that will help."

"Exactly," said Aramis.

"Just take your time," d'Artagnan said.

They slowly walked on, but nothing seemed familiar.

They reached the place where d'Artagnan had parted with him to go home to the Bonacieux's house, and he did just that, veering off down the street.

Aramis expected it this time and continued on without him, walking slowly and looking at everything.

After Aramis passed the street, d'Artagnan came back and joined Athos and Porthos.

As they approached a bakery, the scent of freshly-baked bread filled the air, making Aramis feel hungry for the first time since he was attacked. It seemed slightly familiar, but as he was thinking on it, something unexpected happened.

A very large dog suddenly darted out of the shop and dashed over to Aramis, tongue hanging out of its mouth and tail wagging.

"Oh _no,_ " Porthos said. That dog was very friendly and jumped on Aramis every time he walked by.

"Wait!" Athos said, grabbing his arm before Porthos could interfere.

"It might hurt 'im!" Porthos exclaimed, knowing that Aramis' balance was still in question. He held his breath and watched as Aramis took a few quick steps to outrun the dog, before leaning against the building as it came closer for attention.

Aramis closed his eyes dizzily, holding out an arm to block the dog. He remained slumped against the wall as the dog scurried around him, trying to jump up when he wasn't getting the usual attention.

Something suddenly clicked in Aramis' mind and he opened his eyes, lowering himself to one knee as he scratched the dog behind it's ears.

The dog started licking Aramis' face, making him chuckle.

The others watched where they stood, not wanting to interfere. They were relieved when Aramis finally got to his feet-though he staggered and had to hold onto the wall for a moment-and they followed him when he started to slowly walk on.

Aramis rubbed his forehead, wishing that the ache would just stop. He continued on, until he saw a clothesline that sparked something in his mind.

The others watched as he stopped, and they grew concerned when Aramis just stared and didn't move again.

"He's remembering something!" d'Artagnan whispered.

It was a good couple of minutes later when Aramis suddenly gave a little gasp and staggered again, listing sideways and hitting the wall of the house where he slid down to sit on the ground.

The others had to fight themselves not to react, not wanting to break whatever concentration Aramis had.

"I remember," Aramis suddenly called out.

The others rushed over and knelt beside him.

"Everything?!" Porthos exclaimed.

Aramis shot him an apologetic glance. "No...I remember being attacked. It happened here...right here. When I woke, I saw a blanket hanging on that clothesline, swaying in the breeze."

"Did you see his face?" Athos asked.

Aramis sighed. "Not very well, but it _was_ a man."

"How could you be sure?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis gave him a pale smile. "I doubt that I know many women with a mustache _that_ thick."

Porthos roared with laughter, having not expected the jest.

"He was very strong," Aramis said. "He grabbed me as I passed this house and spun me around before I had a chance to do anything. That's all I can recall."

Everyone nodded, knowing how serious the blow to his head had been.

"After I woke, I saw the blanket and stared at it in a daze for a while, unable to move or think," Aramis continued. "I don't remember getting up and walking to the garrison."

"You must've lost your mental faculties along the way," said Porthos. "It's a miracle you made it back on your own, really."

Everyone was somber for a moment, watching Aramis and giving him time to recover.

"I know we're all assuming that I'll go back to the way that I was," Aramis suddenly said. "But if not, will you accept me the way I am _now_?"

Everyone was surprised at the question.

Porthos grabbed him in a hug, reminding himself to be gentle considering his friend's weakened state. "Of course; you'll always be Aramis."

Aramis melted in the embrace, before saying something that was muffled in Porthos' doublet.

"What'd ya say?" Porthos asked, loosening his hold a little.

Aramis pulled his face away enough to speak. "Thank you." He sighed with happiness. "I could never have truer friends."

Athos reached over to squeeze his arm and d'Artagnan patted his back.

"You'll always be our brother," Athos told him, in a rare moment of candor. "Whether you recover your memories or not."

"That's right," said d'Artagnan. "So stop worrying."

Aramis smiled at them before plopping his head back against Porthos' chest.

"How's your head?" Porthos asked a minute later.

"Aching, but not severely," Aramis answered.

They were relieved to hear that.

"Dizzy?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Yes."

All three of them helped Aramis to his feet, steadying him when he swayed and helping him mount. The ride back to the garrison was a chilly one, with a strong wind buffeting them.

"Do you remember anything else?" Athos suddenly asked.

Aramis looked at him, trying not to make his shivering obvious. "I think so, I just can't put it into words. No matter how hard I try, I can't recall what it was."

The others sighed, knowing that whatever it was could identify the man and end his robberies.

"I'm sorry," Aramis said.

"Nothing that happens is your fault," Athos told him. "You owe no apologies."

They fell silent after that, knowing that Aramis was thinking. Suddenly, he said something that none of them expected.

"Who is 'Constance'?"

Everyone looked at him with shock. "You remember Constance?" d'Artagnan asked.

"Not quite," Aramis said. "In the garrison today, I heard someone say the word 'constant', and it triggered something in my mind."

"She's the wife of the man that I rent my room from," d'Artagnan told him.

"Is she one of the women who 'falls at my feet', as you said?" Aramis asked.

Porthos guffawed with laughter. "The only thing she does with you is slap your face!"

Aramis' eyebrows shot up.

For the rest of the ride, they told him all about her. He didn't quite remember anything in particular, though he said that some of it sounded familiar.

"I'd bring you to see her," said d'Artagnan. "But she and her husband are away visiting his family."

"A pity," said Aramis. "She certainly sounds like a fascinating woman."

Porthos elbowed d'Artagnan. "Uh oh, you better watch out!" he joked.

D'Artagnan chuckled.

"Do we have to return to the garrison?" Aramis asked. "Can we continue riding? Perhaps I'll remember something else."

They couldn't say no to that, and passed the garrison, riding through the marketplace.

"Hey if somethin' dangerous should happen, don't get in the middle of it," Porthos suddenly told him. "You're not physically fit and we don't want you to get hurt."

Aramis nodded, agreeing easily, which was in contradiction to his usual self.

"You okay to walk around?" d'Artagnan asked when they eventually dismounted.

Aramis nodded, even though he was freezing. "For a short while."

They kept the pace slow, letting Aramis lead, in the hope that he would spot something recognizable.

"And how's my best customer today?" a vendor just ahead of them exclaimed.

No one said anything, looking at Aramis and hoping that he would respond.

Aramis turned to look behind himself, before realizing that the man meant him. He looked at the produce before giving the vendor a pleasant smile. "Well enough but not quite myself, so forgive me if I seem confused."

The elderly man frowned with concern before spotting the stitches and bruising that spread across Aramis' temple and down his face. "What happened to you?"

Aramis sighed. "I was apparently attacked by the thief who is currently terrorizing Paris." As he said it, his friends were happy to see him picking through the apples.

"Apparently?" said the man.

"I'm having issues with my memory," Aramis told him.

The vendor handed him a sack for the apples. "Poor boy! As glad as I am to have good men protecting the people, I'll never stop telling you that your job is too dangerous."

Aramis smiled slightly. "As I've heard!" He stuck one hand in a pocket and withdrew a coin, which he handed to the vendor.

Just as he did, a small boy ran over, grabbed an apple, and fled, nearly knocking Aramis over.

Aramis grabbed the side of the cart, not surprised when Porthos quickly took hold of his other arm. "Did he just steal that?" he asked with surprise.

The vendor sighed. "Yes, he's been doing that every day for a week...but I let him. How can I not?"

Aramis stared after the boy, realizing that he was most likely homeless.

The others watched his face rapidly turn pale. "Hey," Porthos said, with alarm, tightening his grip.

Aramis blinked a few times. "I'm all right...just lightheaded."

"You need to go back to the garrison!" said the vendor. "Not gallivant around and making sure you increase my income. As much as I appreciate it, you need rest."

Aramis gave him a tired smile. "You're right. I'll take my leave for today."

The vendor patted his arm. "Feel better soon."

Aramis smiled again and they turned around and walked away.

"We're not going back," Aramis said.

The others looked at him.

"We need to find that boy."

"We can't arrest him, Aramis," said d'Artagnan, assuming that was what he meant. "He's hungry."

Aramis gave him a look of horror. "Arrest him? We need to find him a _home_!"

The others stopped walking.

"It is unfortunate," said Athos. "But there are many who live on the street, and we cannot collect them all."

"But it's a _child_ , Athos!" Aramis exclaimed. "And it's getting colder!"

"Calm down," Porthos said. He looked at the others. "Maybe we can try to grab him tomorrow and take him to the orphanage." He suddenly looked at Aramis again. "Come to think of it, we should've brought you there already."

Aramis blinked. "Why?"

"You go there all the time," d'Artagnan told him. "On Sundays, usually. The children love you."

Aramis smiled. "I entertain children?"

Porthos chuckled. "You sure do."

"Do all of you come with me?" Aramis asked.

"We all have at one time or another," said d'Artagnan. "Though you had to bribe Athos with an expensive bottle of wine."

"He did not _bribe_ me," Athos protested. "He offered it and I accepted."

Porthos chuckled.

"There's no way to catch that boy today," d'Artagnan told Aramis. "He's long gone. We'll have to come back tomorrow."

Aramis hated the idea of the child being outside for another night, but he reluctantly nodded, glad at least that they had a chance to save his life.

TBC


	12. Cold

The next morning, they were ready to rescue the homeless boy, with all four musketeers watching the vendor's stall from three different locations. Porthos stayed with Aramis at the second-closest point, figuring if d'Artagnan didn't catch him first and they missed, Athos could nab him.

Finally, the boy came out of nowhere and grabbed his apple before dashing off.

D'Artagnan hadn't a chance, as the boy ran to the other side of the road and stole something else, probably overconfident since the apple vendor kept leaving him alone. The boy stayed on that side of the street and only ran back after Aramis and Porthos' location.

Aramis took off running without warning.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed, dashing after him. "You shouldn't be runnin'!"

He was right, for Aramis still hadn't fully recovered his equilibrium, and grew dizzy quickly. He had to stop and lean against the wall, eyes closed with a hand pressed to the side of his head as he tried to catch his breath.

"Idiot," Porthos chided, taking hold of his arm.

Aramis said nothing, but he opened his eyes when he heard the unmistakable sounds of an upset child.

Athos came around the corner holding the boy under his arm like a sack of potatoes.

Aramis smiled with relief, sinking to his knees when Athos set the boy on his feet and tightly held his shoulders.

The boy was crying, trying to get away.

Aramis took hold of his arms. "Shh, shh, listen to me! We're going to take you somewhere where you'll be warm and can eat every day without ever being hungry again!"

The boy sniffled, but stopped fighting.

Aramis took out his handkerchief and wiped the boy's tears. "You can trust us, we're musketeers. Do you know what musketeers are?"

The boy nodded.

Aramis smiled. "Good. Will you come with us?"

The boy sniffed again. "Warm?" he said.

Aramis nodded.

"Food?"

"Yes," said Aramis. "Plenty of food."

The boy sniffed again before nodding.

D'Artagnan grabbed the boy's hand before he could bolt again, and they started walking.

Porthos helped Aramis up, frowning when he saw tears well-up in his eyes. "Hey now! What's this?"

"He was cold and hungry," said Aramis, using a hand to wipe them away. "And alone."

"Thanks to you, he'll never be any of those things again," Porthos told him.

Aramis sniffed. "He has my handkerchief," he realized.

Porthos produced his own with a chuckle. "Here."

Aramis took it and wiped his face. Taking a deep breath, he walked around the corner to see the boy facing their direction, standing still.

D'Artagnan was still clutching his hand. "He wouldn't leave without you."

Aramis smiled and walked over, taking the boy's other hand, who immediately let go of d'Artagnan.

The others followed, before realizing that Aramis was walking in the correct direction; towards the orphanage. No one said anything, they just continued to let him lead the way.

Aramis didn't even realize it himself until the moment they arrived. He stood in front of the building and his eyes opened wider. He turned his head to look at the others, to find them smiling.

Porthos stepped forward and patted Aramis on the back, reaching to open the door and holding it for the others.

Aramis lost some confidence after walking in as he tried to remember who the people in charge were, but he walked down the hall and into a large room, where the children were playing.

The instant he walked in, the noise stopped and every tiny head swiveled to look at them.

"ARAMIS!" many of them shouted, before rushing towards the shocked musketeer.

Porthos grabbed hold of Aramis' arm lest the swarm of children knock him off balance. "HOLD IT!" he shouted.

Every child instantly stopped, and a few of them screamed.

"You'll have to all be very careful," Porthos said, trying to sound nice and unmenacing. "You know when one of you falls and bumps your head? Well Aramis did that and he doesn't feel well. Can you all promise to be quiet and gentle?"

Various little heads nodded.

"Promise?" Porthos repeated.

"Promise!" they exclaimed.

Porthos nodded. "Good." He turned his head to look at Aramis, to see him looking pale with surprise but smiling at the same time. "You all right?"

Aramis nodded, so Porthos let go.

The little boy that they found let go of Aramis' hand when he saw a toy that interested him, and he walked over to it and sat on the floor to play.

"Is that why you didn't come the other day?" a boy of perhaps twelve asked Aramis. "Because you fell? That looks like it hurts." He pointed at the bruising down the side of Aramis' face.

A chair was suddenly behind Aramis, and he gratefully sat down. "Yes, I'm sorry."

The boy shook his head and patted Aramis' shoulder as if he were an adult in a child's body. "That's okay, you gotta keep your strength up to defend the king!"

Aramis smiled.

A woman suddenly came into the room holding a tiny girl's hand, and the child squealed and ran over to Aramis, climbing onto his lap before he even had a chance to blink.

"Armis!" she said, laying her head against his chest.

Aramis wrapped his arms around her with delight.

Porthos smiled at the sight and kept an eye on Aramis as d'Artagnan and Athos told the woman about the boy, who picked up the toy and sat on the floor beside Aramis.

The little girl on Aramis' lap looked up at him. "Sing it, Armis."

Aramis blinked. "Sing it?" he repeated.

"Mmm hmm," she said, closing her eyes and laying her head over his heart. "Please?"

Aramis was at a loss. "Sing..." he mumbled, looking up at Porthos.

Porthos had no idea what the girl was talking about, and shook his head.

Aramis thought for a minute, as he adjusted his hold on the child.

" _Golden slumbers kiss your eyes, smiles await you when you rise._

 _Sleep pretty loved one, do not cry, and I will sing a lullaby._

 _Lullaby, lullaby, lullaby._

 _Cares you know not, go to sleep._

 _Aramis here, safe watch will keep..."_

The others returned and quietly watched, listening to his pleasant voice, and daring to hope that he'd remembered the song that he apparently often sang to the child.

The little girl smiled, eyes closed.

Aramis finished the song and looked down at her curly head, but the awkward motion suddenly made him dizzy.

Porthos saw immediately and grasped his arm.

The woman—whose name Aramis could not recall no matter how hard he tried—stepped forward. "Come, Cassandra," she said, reaching for the girl and pulling her off Aramis' lap. "The musketeers cannot stay today."

Cassandra sniffed. "Bye Armis," she said.

Aramis smiled and stood from the chair. "I'll come back soon, I promise."

Cassandra sniffed again but obediently walked off with the woman.

Porthos put an arm around Aramis and led him out, glad to see that his sudden dizzy spell hadn't been bad.

"Was that the song that she asked for?" d'Artagnan asked once they were outside.

Aramis blinked. "I believe so."

"See?" Porthos said, giving him a squeeze. "You're doin' real good!"

That night, they had supper at a tavern—a different one further away where Aramis wouldn't be 'accosted' by a barmaid that he knew—and they had a pleasant meal before returning to the garrison.

The weather was cold and Aramis froze during the whole ride back. He shivered but noticed that the others weren't.

"You've always been susceptible to the cold," Porthos' voice suddenly said.

Aramis looked at him just as Porthos' cloak enveloped him. "I am?"

Porthos nodded, pulling the cloak around Aramis. "Especially after a head injury." It was obvious that he was referencing Savoy.

Aramis figured it out and nodded. "Thank you," he said, feeling a little warmer.

D'Artagnan lit Aramis' fireplace the instant they walked into his room.

"You look exhausted," Athos remarked as Aramis sat on his bed.

Aramis sighed. "I am." He squinted from his headache, and rubbed his forehead. "I'm so tired of this. I know that I'm remembering and I'm relieved, but the process is happening so _slowly_."

"Tomorrow could be the day, Aramis," Porthos told him. "You could remember _everythin'_ tomorrow."

Aramis nodded, and that's all he thought about as he went to sleep that night.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

The next day was very cold, and the first snowflakes of the season fell from the clouds.

"Something is niggling at my mind, but I don't know what it is," Aramis told the others as they stood outside. "I'd like to walk around, maybe whatever it is will come to me."

They looked at him with surprise as he noticeably shivered.

"You're too cold for that," d'Artagnan said.

"I'm a musketeer," Aramis answered. "Whether it's cold outside or not."

Everyone watched him as huge flakes passed his nose.

"Of course you are," Athos said. "Come."

The market had less people than usual because of the cold. The snow was very light and not yet accumulating, but Porthos was still afraid that Aramis could slip, so he kept a hand around one of his arms as they walked.

Aramis walked silently, trying not to shiver, but failing. He knew that the damage to his brain from his injury was likely the reason why he felt so much colder than he should, but it was really, _really_ hard to deal with. He felt like he was outside in nothing but a shirt on winter's coldest night. His teeth were chattering and he felt like a block of ice.

"You okay?" Porthos suddenly asked.

Aramis turned his head to look at him. "No," he admitted. "I c-can't handle this cold."

His answer, especially the uncharacteristic stutter, had everyone stop to look at him.

Aramis wrapped both arms around himself in a meager attempt to be warmer.

"Right," said Porthos. "Turn around." He wrapped an arm around his friend and steered him the other way.

"Let's take him in there," said d'Artagnan, pointing to a bakery.

Porthos obeyed, and heat from the ovens blasted them the instant they walked in.

Aramis shuddered from the abrupt change, sighing with relief as Porthos sat him down. "Thank you," he said. "I feel so foolish."

Porthos sat beside him. "No reason," he said. "This happens to you every time you have a head injury. The brain is delicate, as you've so often told us."

Aramis suddenly remembered telling them that. "I remember," he said. "This has happened to me since Savoy. I must be a burden to you during missions in the winter."

"No, Aramis," said d'Artagnan. "You just need to dress warmer than us, that's all. It's not as bad as this when you're healthy." He blinked. "At least, you've _said_ that it isn't."

"Hmm," said Porthos, coming to the same realization as d'Artagnan. "When you get your memory back, Aramis, we're gonna have a _serious_ talk." He said it with a chuckle, so it wouldn't seem like a threat.

Aramis smiled back.

Athos had gone to the counter, and came back with a cup. "Drink this," he said.

Aramis raised a gloved hand and took the cup, bringing it to his lips but stopping when he caught a whiff of the scent. "What is this?" he asked, taking a sip.

The others waited.

"You have no idea?" Porthos asked.

"No," Aramis answered, drinking more. "It's delicious!"

The others watched him, hoping that he would remember, but nothing happened.

"It's called 'chocolate'," Athos told him.

"It's amazing," Aramis said. "I assume that there's a story around it?"

Porthos told him how after Savoy, he couldn't eat and lost too much weight. In desperation, Athos had brought him hot chocolate and Aramis had loved it.

"It was the only thing that we could get into you," Porthos said.

Aramis frowned. "But isn't it expensive?" Even as he said it—an exact quote of what he'd said five years before—the memory flooded back.

The others saw the sudden change when Aramis' eyes opened wider, and Porthos grabbed the cup lest he drop it.

Aramis sat engulfed in the flashback for at least thirty seconds before he came back to the present.

"What did you remember?" d'Artagnan asked.

Aramis raised a hand to his head, which always hurt more after a flashback. "I..you..." he paused and winced, closing his eyes.

The others all reached out to steady him, not letting go until he reopened his eyes.

Porthos picked up Aramis' other hand and placed the cup in it again.

Aramis drank it before taking another deep breath. "I was in pain...such pain," he said, before looking at Athos. "You later brought me a cup of this and I reacted in much the same way. You were very pleased. I ask you sometime later if it was expensive and you said no."

Athos gave him a rare smile. "As I told you then: money isn't important, I'm glad to help you."

Aramis smiled before staring into space again for a moment. He then looked at Porthos. "After he said that, you told me that I'd been wasting away and you'd had to do _something_. We were eating pastries."

"That's right!" said Porthos. "Look at that, you're rememberin' conversations from five years ago! How does it feel?"

"Painful, but wonderful," Aramis said with a chuckle, as he rubbed his aching head. He looked towards the window at the white flakes. "I have an aversion to snow?"

Everyone shared a glance.

"It bothers you, since Savoy," Porthos told him.

Aramis watched as it fell before standing and going over to the window. "It brings to mind what I always tried to forget," he said. "Ironic, since now I've forgotten by accident."

No one had an answer for that. Even if they did, they had no time to say anything before something very unexpected happened.

Aramis suddenly dashed to the door and ran out, without a word.

It was so abrupt that the others just stared for a second or two before jumping to their feet and rushing out the door after him.

TBC

* 'Back from the Brink' story ID 12088441


	13. I'm Back

Aramis' unexpected departure was so abrupt that the others just stared for a second or two before jumping to their feet and rushing out the door after him.

"Aramis!" Porthos exclaimed. "Where did he go?!"

Athos and d'Artagnan likewise looked around, and they suddenly saw a flurry of activity, where people started running away.

The musketeers rushed over to find Aramis standing over a man, pointing a pistol in his face. Before any of them could react, Aramis spoke.

"Give. Me. That. Hat." His voice was low and deadly, each word emphasized.

The others realized with shock that the man on the ground was indeed holding Aramis' lost hat.

Porthos stalked over and grabbed it, handing it to Athos before yanking the man to his feet. "You're the thief who attacked him!" he exclaimed.

"What?!" the man exclaimed. "No! I found this hat in an alley last week!"

"Aramis?" Athos said, staring at their friend as he stood breathing heavily, still pointing the gun.

Everything was spinning around Aramis, and his grip wavered slightly as he started to shiver again. "That's him, it has to be," he whispered.

"Are you sure?" D'Artagnan asked.

Aramis said nothing as he simply stared.

"I don't believe you," Porthos told the stranger, before he pushed the man against the wall of the building beside them and searched him. "I suppose you found _these_ in an alley too?" he said, pulling out Aramis' pistols which were hidden in his cloak.

"How did you think you could wear that hat in public and not be seen?" d'Artagnan asked.

The man's phony fear disappeared and was replaced with anger. "I thought I'd killed him. How could anyone assume this hat was theirs?"

"Because it was custom-made," said Athos, sliding his fingers under the hem inside and revealing the name 'Aramis' written under it.

Porthos pulled the man away from the wall and punched him so hard that he went flying, unconscious begore he hit the ground. "Get rid of him!" Porthos told the three waiting red guards.

Aramis still stood pointing his now-unneeded replacement pistol at the thief as they dragged him away.

"Aramis?" said Athos, laying a hand on his outstretched arm. "You can lower the gun."

"Yeah," said Porthos. "And use these instead!" He held up Aramis' recovered pistols with a grin.

The sight of them and the hat still in Athos' hands brought everything back to Aramis in a sudden whoosh, and his knees buckled.

Athos caught him quickly and pulled him over to the building's steps, sitting him down and grabbing his upper arms. "Aramis?"

Porthos and d'Artagnan crowded around him, dismayed to find their friend's face as white as the falling snow and his eyes closed. He was breathing heavily and shivering as if it was the coldest day of the year.

"Aramis?" Porthos said. "Look at us!"

The flood of memories spanning nearly three decades filled Aramis' mind and he couldn't handle it all at once. His head was still spinning and aching and all he could do was groan in reply.

"Hey Aramis," Porthos suddenly said. "Remember the time we were riding by the Seine and Athos' horse got spooked by something and threw him right in?"

Athos and d'Artagnan looked at Porthos as if he were insane to be bringing that up now, of all times.

Porthos laughed. "He came out looking like a drowned rat! Do you remember what he said?"

Aramis opened his eyes. "He said, 'Good thing I put the wine in my saddlebag.' He'd just bought an expensive bottle and it had ridden on his lap until a few minutes before his horse threw him."

Porthos glanced at the others and grinned ear-to-ear. "Aramis," he said. "Are you back?"

Aramis looked at all three of them. "Yes," he answered. "I'm back."

Porthos pulled him close in a bear hug and couldn't stop the relieved tears that sprang to his eyes.

Aramis held onto him tightly. "I'm back," he repeated, overcome with relief.

Porthos gave a wet chuckle. "I knew you had it in you," he said.

Aramis smiled.

D'Artagnan weaseled his way in and hugged Aramis next. "I'm so glad!" he exclaimed.

"So am I," Aramis joked.

D'Artagnan pulled back to give Athos access to Aramis, and all three of them were blessed to see a real, happy smile on Athos' face.

"Aramis," was all Athos said, before leaning over to hug him.

Aramis held onto him just as tightly, if not more. Smiles and hugs from Athos were a rare treat.

When Athos loosened his hold, Aramis didn't. "Are you all right?" Athos asked.

Aramis felt like a mess...a happy and relieved mess, but his mind was a jumbled disaster of memories, questions, and emotions. He was still dizzy, his head was throbbing, and he was shaking badly, and not just from the cold. "I...don't know," he said.

His answer greatly concerned the others, but they knew that he had to be very overwhelmed.

"Let's get you home," said Porthos.

"Home," Aramis echoed, before finally pulling away from Athos. "Home, as I always knew it."

They smiled at him and helped him up, not surprised when he swayed.

"I'm fine," Aramis said. "Finally."

Porthos smiled again, pulled one of his friend's arms around his neck, and they began their slow walk back.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

When Treville saw the four musketeers return, he was dismayed to see Aramis supported by Porthos, but the smiles on their faces contradicted the notion that something was wrong. He rushed over to them and immediately saw the old familiar gleam in Aramis' eyes.

"Captain," Aramis said, pulling away from Porthos and wrapping his arms around him in a hug.

Treville was taken by surprise, but automatically returned the embrace. Everyone looked so happy that it seemed obvious why. "Your memory has returned?" he asked, almost afraid of the answer.

"Yes!" Aramis answered.

Treville smiled and tightened his hold. "Thank God!" He noticed that Aramis was shaking, and shifted his grip to support his weight. "Come inside, you're shivering."

Aramis cooperated, letting the captain lead him into the kitchen where the fires were blazing. They sat him down and explained to the captain what had happened.

"So it was the sight of your pistols that did it," Treville remarked.

"I think it was more than that," said Aramis, sipping from a cup of warmed wine. "I remembered a few things as we sat in the bakery, and then spotting my hat sitting on that man's head and then the pistols were just the final thing needed to bring it all back."

Porthos was smiling so wide that his face was aching.

Aramis smiled back, before frowning. "How long has it been? I have no idea what today is."

"It's been fifteen days," Porthos answered.

Aramis gave him a look of shock. "I lost _that_ much time?"

"I wouldn't say you _lost_ it," said d'Artagnan. "You were still here, just different."

"Do you remember the last two weeks, or has that been lost with the return of your memory?" Treville asked.

Aramis took another sip and thought for a few seconds before he answered. "I remember most of it, but it feels...far away, as if it was months ago, not days."

"And how do you feel physically?" Athos asked.

Aramis hesitated. "I can't seem to stop shaking."

"Not surprising," said Treville. "The sudden return of your memory was probably quite a shock to your body. You need rest."

The others quickly agreed with him and brought Aramis up to his room, forcing him to go to bed and piling three extra blankets on top of him.

"Sleep," said Athos. "Everything is fine now."

 _Yes,_ Aramis thought as he dozed off. _Everything is fine._

THE END


End file.
